ETBRARY 

UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA 
DAVIS 


A  Tale  of  San  Domingo, 


BY 

E.  W.  GILLIAM,  M.D. 


BALTIMORE: 

JOHN   MURPHY  &  CO., 
1890. 


LIBRARY 

UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA 
n  A\/TC 


COPYRIGHT,  1890,  BY  E.  W.  GILLIAM,  M.  D. 


TO 

THOMAS   L.    REESE, 

THE  HONEST  MEBCHANT,  THE  DUTIFUL  SON,  THE  JUDICIOUS  FRIEND, 

THIS  FIRST  ESSAY  AT  FICTION, 

CARRIED  ON  TO  COMPLETION  UNDER  HIS  ENCOURAGEMENT, 
IS   DEDICATED   BY  THE  AUTHOR. 


CONTENTS 


PAOX. 

CHAPTER  I. — Introduction,  -        1 

II. — Cape  Francis,  20 

III.— La  Plaine  du  Nord,    -  -      35 

IV. — A  Discussion,          ....  56 

V.— The  "Crop  Over,"       -  -      93 

VI.— The  Outbreak,  110 

VII.— The  Battle,  -    127 

VIII.— Interceding,     -  148 

IX.— Vain  Pleading,    -  -    171 

X.— A  Thoughtful  Ride,  196 

XI.— The  Interview,     -  -  '  223 

XII.— The  Court-martial,  232 

XIII.— The  Cage,  -    251 

XIV.— Jacque,  258 

XV.— The  Flight,  -    268 

XVI.— On  the  Massacre,    -  284 

XVII.— Cape  Fra^ois  Again,  -    294 

XVIII.— Conclusion,      -        -  -      '-        -         304 


PREFACE. 


In  preparing,  for  one  of  the  periodicals,  an  article 
entitled  "  The  African  Problem,"  the  author  was  led  to 
examine  the  history  of  San  Domingo — which  island,  since 
the  slave  insurrection  of  1791,  has  been  controlled  by 
the  blacks ;  and,  in  certain  incidents  connected  with  that 
terrible  outbreak,  he  found  material  which,  he  thought, 
would  lay  the  foundation  for  a  readable  story.  The 
story,  therefore,  was  begun,  and  the  result  is  in  the  fol 
lowing  pages. 

The  historical  portions  are  authentic,  with  the  excep 
tion  of  a  single  anachronism  (so  to  call  it).  It  was 
necessary  to  place  the  scene  of  the  story  at  the  beginning 
of  the  outbreak.  The  author  further  desired  to  introduce 
Jean  Jacque  Dessalines.  Since  this  negro  chieftain,  how 
ever,  does  not  appear  in  history  till  several  years  later, 
the  author  has  taken  the  liberty  of  representing  Paul 
Dessalines  as  the  twin  brother  of  Jean  and  the  fomenter 
of  the  insurrection,  and  of  transferring  to  the  former  the 

well  known  character  of  the  latter. 

vii 


viii  Preface. 

The  "African"  discussion  between  Colonel  Tourner 
and  M.  Tardiffe  fairly  represents  the  views  on  that  sub 
ject  as  held  by  the  French  Jacobins  on  the  one  hand,  and 
the  San  Domingo  planters  on  the  other. 

The  introductory  chapter  first  appeared  as  an  historical 
article  in  The  Magazine  of  American  History,  under  the 
title  of  "  The  French  Colony  of  San  Domingo  :  Its  Rise 
and  Fall."  The  story,  with  some  cutting  down,  was 
afterwards  published  serially  in  The  Catholic  World. 
Those  who  have  read  the  serial  will  see  in  the  book  form 
substantial  additions. 

Among  the  works  on  the  West  Indies  in  general  and 
San  Domingo  in  particular,  the  author  is  especially 
indebted  to  Franklin's  volumes  and  Rainsford's  elabo 
rate  history. 


179UH  ZTale  of  San 


CHAPTER  I. 
INTRODUCTION. 

AN  Domingo,  in  natural  advantages, 
is  unsurpassed.  Three  mountain 
ranges,  of  moderate  elevation,  tra 
versing  its  entire  length,  are  a  guarantee  for 
attractive  scenery  and  well-watered  land.  The 
heat  is  tempered  by  the  trade  winds.  The 
climate  is  salubrious,  save  along  the  coast. 
Splendid  flowering  plants  adorn  the  plains. 
Majestic  forests  of  pine,  mahogany  of  the  finest 
kind,  the  most  valuable  dye  and  cabinet  woods, 
clothe  the  mountain  sides.  The  soil  is  one  of 
exceeding  fertility,  the  low-lying  districts  yield- 

1 


2  1791 — A  Tale  of  San  Domingo. 

ing  in  profusion  the  best  varieties  of  tropical 
growths,  while  the  productions  of  temperate 
regions  thrive  on  the  elevated  slopes.  In  short, 
it  is  excelled  by  no  other  portion  of  the  world. 
In  its  day  it  was  called  "  The  Garden  of  the 
West  Indies,"  "The  Queen  of  the  Antilles;," 
and  it  was  the  boast  of  Columbus,  when  its 
native  richness  and  beauty  burst  upon  him, 
that  he  had  found  the  original  seat  of  Paradise. 

Columbus  discovered  this  turtle-shaped  island 
December  6,  1492,  and  at  Isabella,  on  the 
northern  coast,  established  the  first  Spanish 
colony.  The  city  of  San  Domingo  was  founded, 
1496,  by  the  brother  of  the  renowned  admiral. 
For  half  a  century  these  settlements  received 
marked  attention  from  the  mother  country,  and 
rose  to  great  prosperity.  But,  as  other  parts 
of  America  were  discovered,  the  inhabitants 
were  drawn  off;  and  the  indigenes  having  been 
exterminated  by  excessive  work  and  general 
ill-usage,  the  island,  for  a  period,  declined. 

In  1789  its  sovereignty  was  divided  between 
France  and  Spain.  The  French  colony  occupied 
the  western  portion  of  the  island,  an  irregular 


1791— A  Tale  of  San  Domingo.  3 

north-and-south  line  separating  it  from  Spanish 
territory.  The  area  of  this  colony  was  ten 
thousand  square  miles,  or  one-third  of  the 
whole,  being  somewhat  larger  than  the  State  of 
Vermont.  It  embraced  three  provinces,  north 
ern,  southern,  and  western,  presided  over  by  a 
governor-general.  Cape  Frangois,  in  the  north 
ern  province,  was  the  metropolis,  and  the  Paris 
of  the  Western  World.  At  the  above  date 
French  San  Domingo  had  reached  a  remark 
able  state  of  prosperity  and  splendor. 

The  utmost  effort  had  been  made  to  stimulate 
and  improve  agriculture,  and  on  every  hand 
the  teeming  colony  smiled  with  successful  in 
dustry.  Spread  over  it  were  a  thousand  sugar 
plantations,  and  three  thousand -of  coffee,  not  to 
mention  the  cultivation  of  indigo,  cacao,  cotton, 
etc.,  and  the  splendid  tropical  fruits  yielded  to 
trivial  care.  The  narrow  but  rich  plain  of  Cul 
de  Sac  itself  contained  one  hundred  and  fifty 
sugar  plantations,  while  the  rising  slopes,  up  to 
the  Spanish  lines,  were  clothed  with  coffee  farms, 
that  appeared  from  the  hill-crests  as  so  many 
thickets.  In  1789  the  colony  laded,  for  France 


4  1791 — A  Tale  of  San  Domingo. 

alone,  four  hundred  vessels.  It  supplied  Europe 
with  half  of  its  sugar.  Its  exports  were  valued 
at  $28,000,000.  Numerous  roads,  spacious  and 
most  beautifully  kept,  intersected  the  country  in 
all  directions.  The  planters  lived  in  j ovial  splen 
dor,  in  the  loveliest  homes  in  the  world.  From 
1750  to  1789  (the  beginning  of  revolutionary 
activity)  the  growth  of  the  colony  was  marvel 
ous,  at  the  latter  date  reaching  a  height  superior 
to  all  other  colonial  possessions. 

The  inhabitants  were  whites,  mulattoes  or 
people  of  color,  and  negro  slaves.  The  rise  of 
each  is  written  in  dark  lines. 

In  1630  a  small  body  of  French  and  English, 
who  had  established  themselves  on  St.  Chris 
topher,  one  of  the  Windward  islands,  were  ruth 
lessly  driven  out  by  the  Spaniards.  The  greater 
part  found  refuge  in  Tortuga,  a  small  island 
near  the  northwest  coast  of  San  Domingo,  where 
they  increased  rapidly,  and  as  buccaneers,  be 
came  the  terror  of  the  neighboring  seas.  Upon 
the  commerce  of  the  Spaniards,  their  special  ene 
mies,  they  took  the  amplest  revenge.  Predatory 
excursions  soon  gave  them  a  footing  on  the 


1791 — A  Tale  of  San  Domingo.  5 

western  coast  of  San  Domingo.  Eventually, 
the  English  buccaneers  settled  in  Jamaica.  The 
French  section  continued  to  gain  ground  in  San 
Domingo,  where  gradually  they  left  off  piracy, 
and  became  planters.  The  French  government 
now  began  to  extend  its  care.  Governors  were 
appointed.  The  planters  were  increased  by 
immigrants  from  the  mother  country.  Wives 
were  sent  out.  Negro  slaves  were  taken  in 
raids  upon  Spanish  territory.  An  incursion  to 
Jamaica  in  1694  secured  two  thousand,  and  a 
notable  impulse  was  given  to  the  cultivation 
of  sugar.  The  colony,  in  1697,  had  greatly 
developed  in  numbers  and  importance,  and 
the  Spaniards,  unable  to  cope  with  France, 
by  the  treaty  of  Ryswick  formally  ceded  to 
the  latter  country  the  western  portion  of  the 
island. 

In  1789  the  whites  were  known  as  Europeans 
and  as  Creoles,  between  whom  great  jealousies 
existed.  The  former,  generally,  were  public 
functionaries,  military  men,  or  merchants — 
lived  chiefly  in  the  towns — assumed  an  air  of 
superiority,  and  exercised  much  petty  tyranny. 


6  1791 — A  Tale  of  San  Domingo. 

The  Creoles  or  planters  considered  themselves 
the  heirs  of  the  soil — were  excessively  imperious 
and  voluptuous,  impatient  of  restraint,  jealous 
of  wealth  and  honor,  unbounded  in  self-indul 
gence,  yet  hospitable  and  charitable.  They 
commonly  lived  on  the  estates  they  cultivated, 
and  resented  disdainfully  the  assumed  superi 
ority  of  the  European. 

Of  the  mulattoes  many  were  cultivated  men, 
opulent  and  large  slave-owners.  Their  charac 
ters  often  commanded  respect,  yet  meanness  of 
birth  could  not  be  forgotten.  The  whites  looked 
down  upon  them  contemptuously,  and  their 
condition,  on  the  whole,  was  truly  degrading. 
They  were  exposed  to  perpetual  insult  and 
humiliation — were  governed  by  a  set  of  local 
laws  applicable  only  to  themselves — on  attain 
ing  their  majority  they  were  compelled  to  serve 
three  years  in  a  kind  of  militia,  to  keep  run 
away  slaves  in  check — were  subject  to  a  "cor 
vee"  for  the  maintenance  of  the  roads — ex 
cluded  from  public  employments  and  the  liberal 
professions — and  not  allowed  to  bear  the  names 
of  their  white  fathers.  Many  had  been  highly 


1791 — A  Tale  of  San  Domingo.  7 

educated  in  France,  and  possessed  large  estates, 
and  the  deprivation  of  political  and  personal 
rights  was  borne  with  a  gathering  and  ominous 
sense  of  resentment. 

The  circumstances  connected  with  the  intro 
duction  of  the  negro  slaves,  to  replace  the 
exterminated  indigenes,  opens  the  blackest  page 
in  Spanish  history. 

These  indigenes — as  they  appeared  to  Colum 
bus,  before  they  had  been  broken  and  debased 
by  the  Spaniard's  cruelty — were  an  interesting 
race.  Reliable  accounts  represent  them  as 
being  of  lighter  color  than  the  inhabitants  of 
the  neighboring  islands,  and  generally  superior 
— singular  in  feature,  but  not  disagreeable — in 
aspect  timid  and  gentle,  in  person  not  tall,  but 
well-shaped  and  active,  weak  in  body,  incapable 
of  much  labor,  short  lived,  and  extremely  frugal. 
They  were  guileless  in  their  manners,  possessed 
fair  apprehensions,  were  remarkably  obedient 
to  their  rulers,  humble,  patient,  submissive, 
with  a  love  for  quietude,  and  dislike  for  dis 
putes.  They  exercised  a  simple  agriculture 
and  had  made  some  progress  in  the  arts  of 


8  1791— ^4  Tale  of  San  Domingo. 

ornament  and  of  utility,  displaying  ingenuity 
in  working  beaten  gold,  and  in  the  manufacture 
of  a  plain  cotton  cloth  and  earthern  pitchers. 
In  a  word,  they  occupied  a  middle  state  between 
savage  life  and  polished  society — an  unoffend 
ing,  peaceable  and  amiable  race.  Their  char 
acter  was  in  keeping  with  the  native  fauna  of 
the  island,  which  contained  no  beast  of  prey, 
and  no  wild  animal  larger  than  a  hare. 

The  bold  bearing  of  the  Spaniards,  their 
great  size  and  strength,  and  splendid  aspect  in 
shining  armor  and  on  caparisoned  horses,  pro 
duced  in  the  minds  of  the  simple  islanders  a 
reverential  awe.  They  regarded  them  as  hav 
ing  descended  from  the  heavens,  and  gave  them 
the  honor  due  to  superior  beings.  But  the 
Spaniards  were  ravening  wolves ;  and  under  a 
course  of  most  merciless  treatment  the  history 
of  the  indigenes  is  pitiful,  till  it  ends  with  their 
extinction  fifty  years  on. 

Pioneer  colonists  are  commonly  reckless  ad 
venturers,  without  money  or  character.  On 
his  second  voyage,  to  colonize  Hispaniola,  Co 
lumbus,  good  and  great  as  he  was,  committed 


1791— .4  Tale  of  San  Domingo.  9 

the  profound  mistake  of  taking  with  him,  for 
want  of  better  material  to  complete  his  number, 
a  lot  of  convicted  criminals,  who,  let  loose 
among  the  natives,  made  themselves  free  with 
their  wives  and  property,  and  turned  the  colony 
into  a  hell. 

The  outrages  became  unbearable,  even  to 
this  submissive  people,  and  an  unsuccessful 
attempt  at  resistance  was  followed  by  the  impo 
sition  of  a  yearly  tribute.  In  lieu  of  tribute, 
a  slavery  presently  succeeded  unequaled  for 
cruelty  and  destructiveness.  Unprotected  by 
the  stronger  physiques  which  the  ordinary 
environments  of  an  underling  race  are  naturally 
fitted  to  secure,  they  fell  an  easy  prey  to  the 
pitiless  Spaniards,  who  exhausted  against  the 
defenseless  creatures  every  advantage  their 
manifold  superiorities  conferred. 

Under  Governor- General  Bobadilla,  they 
were  divided  into  classes,  and  distributed,  like 
cattle,  among  the  Spaniards,  by  fifties  and  hun 
dreds.  The  attempt  of  his  successor,  0  van  do, 
to  modify  these  distributions  into  Mrings,  where 
by,  for  a  certain  sum  and  for  a  specified  time, 


10          1791— ^4  Tale  of  San  Domingo. 

the  Indians  were  compelled  to  work  for  the 
Spaniards,  only  deepened  their  oppression. 
Payment  was  made  a  plea  for  multiplied  exac 
tions.  The  character  of  the  pitiless  slavery 
advanced  under  Albuquerque  and  others,  and 
the  death  of  Isabella  removed  all  check  upon 
its  rigors.  The  serious  efforts  of  this  amiable 
and  illustrious  princess  in  behalf  of  the  politi 
cal  as  well  as  the  religious  interest  of  the 
indigenes  had  been  frustrated  by  the  cruelty  of 
the  Spaniards.  Their  merciless  treatment  had 
been  studiously  concealed  from  her.  It  re 
mained  unknown  till  she  lay  upon  her  dying- 
bed,  and  deeply  distressed  the  last  hours  of  the 
pious  Queen. 

Spanish  cruelty  had  its  root  in  avarice. 

Quid  non  mortalia  pectora  cogis 
Auri  sacra  fames  f 

This  grew  so  intense  that  the  Indians  came 
to  believe  that  gold  was  the  Spaniards'  real 
God.  Neglecting  agriculture,  they  drove  the 
natives  to  the  mines,  and  there  imposed  tasks 
upon  this  feeble-bodied  people  that  would  have 


1791 — A  Tale  of  San  Domingo.          11 

been  excessive  for  a  far  hardier  race.  They 
were  worked  till  they  spat  blood,  and  the  milk 
dried  up  in  the  breasts  of  nursing  women. 

Resistance  offered  at  the  outset  proved  utterly 
futile.  On  the  Vega  Real  an  army  of  a  hundred 
thousand  was  dreadfully  routed  by  a  Spanish 
force  but  two  hundred  strong. 

Resorting  now  to  starvation  against  their 
enemies — whom  they  had  observed,  in  contrast 
with  their  own  frugal  ways,  as  being  immense 
eaters — they  pulled  up  their  edible  roots,  sus 
pended  agriculture,  and  fled  to  the  mountains. 
The  device  recoiled  against  themselves.  A 
third  of  the  population  perished ;  and  the  lime 
stone  caverns  near  the  mountain  summits  still 
abound  with  the  bones  of  the  wretched  fugitives 
who  preferred  death  by  starving  to  the  intol 
erable  tyranny  of  the  Spaniards. 

Henceforth  they  hopelessly  submitted,  and 
sank  into  a  sluggish,  dazed  condition,  with  a 
perfect  hatred  towards  their  oppressors  and 
everything  pertaining  to  them.  Those  about 
to  die  and  exhorted  to  baptism,  refused  the  rite 
with  expressions  of  abhorrence  for  the  Chris- 


12          1791— .4  Tale  of  San  Domingo. 

tian's  heaven,  on  being  told  that  Spanish  souls 
had  gone  thither. 

The  Indians  worked  only  under  the  spur  of 
blows  and  ill-usage.  No  indignity,  no  wrong, 
no  treachery  was  spared  them.  They  almost 
lost  the  semblance  of  human  beings;  and  to 
such  intellectual  blights  some  of  the  newly 
arrived  priests  hesitated  to  administer  the  sac 
raments.  The  Spaniards  spurned  those  whom 
their  oppression  had  driven  towards  idiotcy, 
and  treated  them  as  an  inferior  species  of 
animals.  Instances  are  mentioned  (in  a  neigh 
boring  colony)  of  Indian  infants  having  been 
fed  to  hounds,  and  of  a  princess'  son  bartered 
for  a  cheese. 

Multitudes  perished  in  the  four  chief  mines — 
multitudes  disappeared  from  suicide,  famine, 
fatigue,  and  superinduced  disease.  Laborers 
became  scarce,  and,  to  supply  the  want,  the 
Spaniards  visited  one  of  the  Bahamas,  and, 
representing  to  the  islanders  that  the  spirits  of 
their  departed  friends  and  ancestors  were  living 
happily  in  Hispaniola,  entrapped,  within  a  few 
years,  forty  thousand,  and  sent  them  to  the 


1791—^4  Tale  of  San  Domingo.          13 

mines.  To  close  the  dreadful  recital:  the 
Spaniards  worked  these  mines  so  actively,  that, 
at  the  end  of  fifty  years,  there  remained  not  one 
hundred  natives  out  of  the  one-and-a-half  mil 
lion  who  happily  inhabited  the  island  upon  its 
discovery  by  Columbus.  It  is  a  horrible  story 
against  Spain ;  and  from  these  infernal  wrongs, 
has  arisen  the  wrath  of  Grod  to  wither,  to  this 
clay,  the  Spanish  settled  portions  of  the  New 
World. 

The  inhuman  treatment  of  the  indigenes 
raised  up  advocates.  The  most  notable  was 
Las  Casas.  He  thought  it  less  cruel  to  work 
negroes.  They  had  far  greater  powers  of 
endurance,  one  negro  being  considered  the 
equal  of  five  Indians.  To  mitigate,  therefore, 
the  sufferings  of  the  latter,  as  well  as  to  sustain 
the  colony  now  languishing  for  labor,  the 
Emperor  Charles  V.  adopted  Las  Casas'  sug 
gestion,  and  granted  to  one  of  his  Flemish 
favorites  a  patent  for  the  yearly  importation  of 
four  thousand.  This  privilege,  sold  to  Genoese 
merchants,  became  the  foundation  of  a  regular 
trade  for  supplying  the  colony — a  trade  that 


14          1791—^4  Tale  of  San  Domingo. 

continued  to  increase  throughout  the  whole 
archipelago,  where  the  negroes  multiplied  with 
prodigious  rapidity.  It  has  been  noticed  as  a 
remarkable  historical  fact,  that  the  humane 
efforts  of  this  noble-hearted  priest  should  be  so 
closely  associated  with  the  establishment  in 
America  of  the  African  slave  trade. 

In  1789  the  colony  contained  '450,000  slaves 
— the  mulattoes  and  free  blacks  being  24,000 — 
the  whites,  40,000. 

At  this  date  it  had  reached  a  height  of 
prosperity  without  parallel  in  the  history  of 
colonial  possessions.  Many  of  the  proprietors, 
enormously  rich  (hence  the  phrase,  as  rich  as  a 
Creole) ,  lived  half  the  year  in  Paris  in  the  most 
sumptuous  style,  attended,  as  a  special  act  of 
legislation  allowed,  by  retinues  of  slaves — 
passing  the  winters  in  their  beautiful  West 
India  homes.  Others  resided  permanently  in 
France,  and  spent  all  their  revenues  abroad ; 
yet,  so  vast  were  the  capabilities  of  the  island, 
that,  under  a  careful  system  of  tillage  which 
"wrested  from  a  most  fertile  soil  the  most 
immense  wealth,"  riches  multiplied  as  if  by 


1791— ^f  Tale  of  San  Domingo.          15 

magic.  The  private  luxury  and  public  gran 
deur  of  the  colony  astonished  the  traveler,  and 
its  accumulation  of  wealth  was  a  constant 
source  of  surprise  to  the  mother  country. 

Unhappily,  dissoluteness  had  advanced  with 
equal  strides,  and  the  outward  splendor  rested 
on  frail  virtuous  supports.  Morally,  the 
mulattoes  appear  to  have  been  the  superior 
class.  The  planters  and  negroes  were  alike 
depraved.  The  former  were  sybarites.  Opu 
lent  and  dissipated,  they  had  reached  a  state 
of  sentiment  and  manners  the  most  vitiated, 
and  the  slaves  had  caught  the  infection.  If  the 
master  was  proud  and  voluptuous,  the  slave 
was  vicious  and  often  riotous,  and  the  punish 
ment  frequently  cruel  and  unnatural. 

Society,  moreover,  was  throughout  in  a  con 
dition  of  antagonisms,  the  creole  slave  regard 
ing  with  scorn  the  newly  imported  African ; 
the  free  mulatto  disdaining  the  creole  slave; 
while  the  whites  looked  down  with  contempt 
upon  all,  and  were  themselves  divided  by  the 
wretched  jealousies  between  planters  and  func 
tionaries.  It  was  an  atmosphere  of  suspicion 


16          1791—^1  Tale  of  San  Domingo. 

and  ill-will,  in  which  an  evil  construction  was 
given  to  everything.  No  determinate  princi 
ples  guided  the  superior  classes.  Each  passing 
event  became  a  new  occasion  for  discontent. 
In  a  society  so  circumstanced  the  revolutionary 
spirit  agitating  the  mother  country  found  ready 
entrance,  and  the  dissolution  of  social  order  was 
apparently  threatened. 

In  the  discussions  in  France  (1787-88)  that 
preceded  the  meeting  of  the  States-General, 
each  race  became  profoundly  interested.  The 
doctrine  of  "liberty,  equality,  and  fraternity " 
was  warmly  indorsed  by  the  whites — yet  for 
themselves  alone.  The  mulattoes  saw  the 
opportunity  for  realizing  political  and  social 
rights.  The  slave,  too,  became  an  interested 
listener,  and  began  to  feel  the  stirring  of  new 
aspirations.  The  latter,  at  the  outset,  remained 
quiet,  though,  as  Rainsford  observes,  the  efforts 
in  their  behalf  by  Lafayette,  Mirabeau,  and 
the  Abbe  Gregoire  made  their  condition  a 
prominent  topic  of  conversation  and  regret  in 
half  the  towns  of  Europe. 


1791 — A  Tale  of  San  Domingo.          17 

The  mulattoes,  however,  promptly  insisted 
upon  political  equality ;  and  at  once  arose  be 
tween  them  and  the  whites  a  bitter  struggle, 
which  the  vacillating  course  of  home  legisla 
tion — now  favoring  one  party,  now  the  other — 
prolonged  and  greatly  intensified.  It  was  a 
most  deplorable  state  of  affairs,  and  tore  the 
colony  dreadfully.  Both  sides  were  in  arms, 
and  not  infrequently  in  bloody  encounters. 
There  were  collisions,  and  then  settlings  towards 
repose;  then  fresh  aggravations  and  impend 
ing  conflict,  followed  by  recedings  from  the 
verge  of  war. 

Finally,  May  15, 1791,  the  national  assembly 
passed  a  decree — warmly  supported  by  Lafay 
ette,  Condorcet,  Gregoire,  and  other  leaders — 
granting  to  the  "people  of  color"  full  political 
rights.  The  tidings  reached  San  Domingo  in 
June,  and  fell  like  a  thunderbolt  from  a  clear 
sky.  It  at  once  consolidated  all  parties  among 
the  whites  against  the  mother  country.  The 
colonists  had  been  dividing  against  themselves, 
as  the  sentiment  of  the  national  assembly  de 
veloped  towards  the  enfranchisement  of  the 
2 


18          1791— A  Tale  of  San  Domingo. 

colored  races,  some  advocating  one  course — 
others  another.  But  race  feeling  is  deeper  than 
political  feeling ;  and  the  whites,  in  the  pres 
ence  of  the  enforced  equality  of  the  "  bastard 
and  scorned"  mulatto,  by  a  natural  esprit  de 
corps,  became  consolidated.  The  worst,  too, 
was  feared  from  the  decree's  effect  upon  the 
slaves,  who  had  already  grown  noticeably  delib 
erative  and  restless.  In  a  frenzy  of  rage  they 
determined  to  reject  the  civic  oath.  They  forced 
the  governor  to  suspend  the  operation  of  the 
decree,  till  they  could  appeal  to  France.  In  the 
northern  provincial  assembly  a  motion  was 
made  to  raise  the  British  flag. 

The  mulattoes,  alarmed,  yet  exasperated  to 
the  last  degree,  gathered  in  armed  bodies.  The 
sentiment  prevailed  that  one  or  the  other  party 
must  be  exterminated.  War  seemed  inevitable 
— when  the  blacks  (August  15),  rising  in  vast 
numbers,  suddenly  appeared  upon  the  scene, 
and  within  four  days  laid  one-third  of  the 
northern  province  in  utter  ruin. 

The  whites,  in  consternation,  now  promptly 
granted  civil  rights  to  the  mulattoes,  and  these 


1791— .4  Tale  of  San  Domingo.          19 

(generally  slaveholders),  turning  against  the 
blacks  with  all  the  zeal  that  the  powerful  inter 
ests  of  property  inspire,  peace  appeared  not 
improbable — when  the  fatal  legislation  of  the 
national  assembly  reached  its  climax.  For, 
moved  by  the  remonstrances  of  the  planters' 
agents,  who  raised  the  cry  that  the  colony  was 
about  to  be  lost,  and  ignorant  of  the  black  rising 
and  the  accord  between  whites  and  mulattoes, 
the  assembly  (September  24)  repealed  the  de 
cree  of  May  15.  The  mulattoes  could  not  be 
persuaded  that  the  planters  had  not  instigated 
the  repeal — lost  all  confidence  in  the  whites — 
threw  themselves  into  the  negro  camp — and  a 
furious  and  fatal  war  ensued. 

Thus  perished — amid  unparalleled  scenes  of 
uproar,  butchery,  and  beastly  outrage — this 
splendid  colony,  founded  in  the  cruelties  of  the 
Spaniard  and  the  buccaneer.  It  was  a  day  of 
blood  for  blood — of  vengeance  for  those  wretched 
indigenes  whose  merciless  slavery  these  blacks 
had  been  imported  to  bear.  It  is  amid  these 
scenes  that  the  following  narrative  takes  its 
rise. 


CHAPTER  II. 
CAPE    FRANCOIS. 

APE  Francois,  before  its  destruction 
by  the  revolted  negroes,  was  a  splen 
did  city,  the  real  capital  of  French 
St.  Domingo.  It  was  strikingly  situated  upon 
a  small  plain  hollowed  out  from  between  two 
noble  mountains  (called  Homes  by  the  natives) 
that  rose  from  the  city's  limits  towards  the  west 
and  the  north,  the  latter  ending  abruptly  upon 
the  bay,  and  giving  a  strong  site  to  Fort 
Picolet,  whose  guns  commanded  the  entrance 
to  the  harbor.  A  narrow  passage  to  the  north 
west,  and  a  broader  one  southward,  between 
the  Western  Morne  and  the  bay,  led  to  the 
celebrated  "  Plaine  du  Nord,"  whose  fertile  ex 
panse  was  studded  with  thriving  towns,  smiling 
villages,  and  its  far-famed  coffee  and  sugar 
20 


1791— ^4  Tale  of  San  Domingo.          21 

plantations.  Thirty  well-built  streets  crossed 
each  other  at  right  angles  ;  public  squares  were 
numerous  and  attractive,  and  in  its  air  of 
graceful  wealth  and  elegance  the  Cape,  as  it 
was  commonly  called,  rivalled  the  foremost 
cities  of  Europe. 

It  was  on  an  August  evening,  1791,  in  a 
handsomely  furnished  room  at  the  Hotel  de 
Ville — a  fine  stone  structure  on  la  rue  St.  Louis, 
and  facing  the  Place  de  Clugni — that  Charles 
Pascal  and  his  son  Henry  were  conversing  in 
earnest  tones.  The  elder  Pascal  was  dressed 
with  scrupulous  neatness,  in  the  style  prevail 
ing  anterior  to  the  Revolution:  a  square-cut 
and  collarless  coat,  long-flapped  waistcoat,  stock 
ings  gartered  at  the  knee  and  beneath  the 
breeches,  which  buttoned  over  them;  low- 
quartered,  square-toed  shoes,  with  red  heels 
and  buckle.  The  hair  was  gathered  in  a  queue, 
and  a  broad  black  ribbon,  called  a  solitaire, 
encompassing  the  throat  and  fastened  behind, 
completed  the  attire.  He  was  a  tall,  spare, 
rather  feeble-looking  man,  who  had  scarcely 
turned  fifty,  but  one  would  have  taken  him  to 


22          1791— ^4  Tale  of  San  Domingo. 

be  far  older.  A  settled  shade  of  care  or  grief 
lessened  the  effect  of  regular  and  clearly-cut 
features.  His  manner  was  grave  and  courteous, 
yet  firm  withal. 

A  year  before — a  victim  to  the  uproar  and 
terrors  of  the  times — Charles  Pascal  had  lost 
a  beloved  wife,  nee  Beatty,  from  one  of  the 
Carolinas,  whom  he  had  met  in  early  life,  during 
a  business  visit  to  Baltimore.  Recent  pecuniary 
losses  had  all  but  wrecked  an  abundant  fortune. 
The  first  inroad  was  an  outlay  as  endorser  for 
his  brother,  who  by  injudicious  investments  and 
mismanagement  lost  his  wealth,  and  was  now 
living  in  Jamaica,  whither  he  had  gone  with 
the  hope  of  rebuilding  his  fortune.  About  the 
same  time  an  opportuuity  offered  to  buy  at 
advantage  a  valuable  plantation,  which,  as  ad 
joining  his  own,  he  had  long  'desired,  and  his 
bank-balance  was  well-nigh  exhausted  in  the 
purchase.  He  soon  realized  his  mistake ;  for 
the  revolutionary  spirit  in  France,  extending  to 
St.  Domingo  and  embroiling  the  whites  and 
mulattoes,  had  paralyzed  trade  and  spread  ruin 
through  the  colony.  The  planters  were  espe- 


1791— ^4  Tale  of  San  Domingo.          23 

cially  affected.  That  the  slaves  should  be 
indifferent  to  passing  events  was  impossible; 
They  had  grown  increasingly  restless,  insubor 
dinate,  and  idle,  and  agriculture,  that  before  had 
proven  enormously  remunerative,  was  now  con 
ducted  at  a  loss.  Under  these  circumstances 
plantation  life  had  become  exceedingly  irksome 
to  M.  Pascal,  when  the  confirmation  of  certain 
fears  hastened  a  change  he  had  been  contem 
plating.  Dismissing  his  salaried  manager,  and 
placing  plantation  affairs  in  the  hands  of  his 
body-servant,  Jacque  Beatty,  he  closed  his 
mansion,  and  had  that  morning  domiciled  him 
self  at  the  Hotel  de  Ville. 

His  companion  was  a  well-proportioned  young 
man  of  three- and-twenty,  with  light  hair  and 
clear  gray  eyes,  inherited  from  his  mother. 
Excepting  the  chin — a  feature  so  often  deficient, 
but  here  perfect — and  an  excellent  set  of  teeth, 
his  lineaments,  taken  singly,  were  not  specially 
noticeable.  The  combination,  however,  was  un 
usually  attractive,  and  gave  the  impression  of 
an  amiable,  intelligent,  and  resolute  character. 
He  had  received  in  the  best  schools  of  Cape 


24          1791— A  Tale  of  San  Domingo. 

Francois  a  finished  commercial  education,  de 
clining,  in  view  of  his  parents'  health  and  being 
an  only  child,  an  opportunity  his  father  offered 
to  study  at  the  French  capital.  For  some  years 
he  had  been  agent  for  Thomas  Harrison,  a 
wealthy  Englishman,  who  conducted  in  Balti 
more  a  large  trade  in  West  India  fruit.  Since 
the  outbreak  of  the  revolutionary  spirit  his 
business  had  greatly  declined,  and  Mr.  Har 
rison,  in  appreciation  of  his  efficient  services, 
had  been  corresponding  with  him  in  reference 
to  the  transfer  of  the  agency  to  Jamaica,  and 
connecting  with  it  a  branch  house  for  the  sale 
of  American  goods.  He  had  but  recently  re 
turned  from  an  extended  visit  of  inspection  to 
Kingston,  and  it  was  a  current  on-dit  that  he 
was  on  the  eve  of  removing  thither. 

"  You  are  doubtless  surprised,  Henry,"  said 
the  elder  Pascal  as  the  former  entered  the  apart 
ment  in  response  to  a  note  from  his  father,  "  at 
my  being  domiciled  here,  and  without  a  line  to 
you  of  my  intention." 

"  In  truth  I  am,"  he  replied,  "  though  these 
are  days  of  surprises." 


1791—^  Tale  of  San  Domingo.          25 

"Life  at  Sans  Souci,  Henry,  had  become  a 
heavy  drag." 

"I  know  that,  sir,  and  have  often  advised 
your  spending  a  portion  of  your  time  at  the 
Cape." 

"  I  should  probably  have  remained,  however, 
had  I  not  had  grounds  for  apprehending  an 
outbreak  of  the  slaves." 

"  An  outbreak  of  the  slaves !  "  cried  Henry 
Pascal  with  a  mingled  sense  of  astonishment 
and  dread,  for  he  knew  his  father  possessed  a 
cool,  clear  judgment,  and  was  little  controlled 
by  idle  alarms.  "  I  trust,  indeed,  you  are  mis 
taken,  sir." 

"  I  have  such  fears,  Henry." 

"  No  such  fear  is  felt  here,"  quickly  rejoined 
the  son. 

"  Ah !  Henry,  the  spirit  of  liberty  is  abroad, 
often,  alas !  wild  and  irrational ;  but  its  cry,  for 
good  or  for  evil,  rings  through  the  air.  The 
Commons  are  seizing  it  in  France ;  the  mulat- 
toes  are  struggling  for  it  here;  may  not  the 
slave,  too,  strike  to  be  free  ?  " 


26          1791— A  Tale  of  San  Domingo. 

"Why,  sir,  I  cannot  but  think — and  I  ex 
press  the  common  opinion — that  the  negroes 
have  been  remarkably  quiet  under  the  extra 
ordinary  provocations  to  excitement  they  have 
received  for  the  past  two  years." 

"I  have  noticed  a  tendency  to  deliberate," 
replied  the  elder  Pascal. 

"And  what  inference  do  you  draw  ?  " 

"  That  deliberation  among  slaves  is  the  pre 
lude  to  revolution.  They  are  a  vicious  set, 
corrupted  by  their  profligate,  sybarite  masters, 
and  ready  for  anything." 

"  Do  you  think,"  asked  Henry  Pascal  reflec 
tively,  "  if  a  revolt  were  precipitated,  it  could 
possibly  be  successful  ?  " 

"Why  not,  Henry?" 

"  Because  a  black  rising  would  at  once  con 
solidate  the  whites  and  mulattoes ;  and  against 
the  alliance  what  could  the  slaves  effect,  without 
wealth,  education,  or  military  means  ?  " 

"  Upon  the  question  of  success  I  might  say, 
Henry,  that  there  is  a  point  where  mere  num 
bers  must  outweigh  the  united  force  of  wealth, 
intelligence,  and  prestige ;  that  the  blacks  pos- 


1791—^4  Tale  of  San  Domingo.          27 

sess  splendid  physiques,  are  not  deficient  in 
personal  courage,  and  stand  nearly  ten  to  one 
against  whites  and  mulattoes  combined." 

The  elder  Pascal  had  been  speaking  in  a 
quiet  manner,  but  at  the  same  time  in  a  manner 
so  assured  that  his  son  could  not  avoid  sus 
pecting  that  behind  his  calm  utterances  there 
was  something  which  had  not  yet  appeared. 
Pausing  a  moment,  he  said : 

"  My  dear  father,  this  is  a  matter  of  startling 
import.  Let  me  hear  the  precise  grounds  for 
the  fear  you  have  expressed." 

"They  are  briefly  stated,"  he  answered, 
counting  off  the  arguments  upon  his  fingers. 

"  First :  these  days  of  uproar  and  change 
tempt  to  such  a  movement.  Second :  we  have 
among  us  not  a  few  recently  imported  Africans, 
who  sigh  for  their  savage  freedom,  and  remem 
ber  against  us  the  wrongs  done  them,  the 
kindred  from  whom  they  have  been  torn,  and 
the  horrors  of  the  middle  passage.  Third  and 
especially :  the  negroes  are  becoming  convinced 
that  the  mulattoes  will  triumph  in  their  strug 
gle  for  political  rights,  and  fear  the  result  upon 


28          1791— A  Tale  of  San  Domingo. 

themselves.  Though  apparently  quiet,  they 
have  been  on  the  alert  and  eager  in  their  inqui 
ries,  and  are  as  conscious  of  the  general  course 
of  affairs  as  you  or  I.  They  have  leaders  who 
keep  them  informed.  They  see  that  the  senti 
ment  of  the  National  Assembly  is  becoming 
more  and  more  Jacobin,  and  developing  over 
whelmingly  on  the  side  of  the  mulattoes ;  and 
that,  with  the  whole  power  of  France  exerted 
to  enforce  the  15th  of  May  decree,  the  mulattoes 
must  win.  The  mulattoes  are  known  to  be 
hard  masters,  and  with  the  enlargement  of 
their  civil  rights  the  negroes  fear  their  own  lot 
will  become  more  straitened." 

"  I  must  say,  sir,  that  these  grounds  appear 
to  me  largely  speculative." 

"  Have  you  seen,  Henry,  the  Abbe  Gregoire's 
letter,  addressed  to  the  people  of  color  upon 
the  passage  of  last  May's  decree?" 

"  Yes,  sir." 

"  It  distinctly  declares,"  continued  the  elder 
Pascal,  "that  the  logical  sequence  of  that 
decree  must  be  the  ultimate  liberty  of  the 
blacks." 


1791— ^4  Tale  of  San  Domingo.          29 

"But  why  not  believe  with  the  abbe,"  re 
joined  Henry  Pascal,  "  that  emancipation  will 
come  by-and-by,  and  peacefully  ?  " 

"  Never,  Henry,  never !  African  slavery  is 
essential  to  the  best  interests  of  the  colony,  and 
has  so  grown  into  the  body  politic  that  it  could 
not  be  torn  away  without  rending  a  thousand 
fibres  and  letting  out  blood.  The  abbe's  most 
unfortunate  letter  has  already  sped  through  the 
blacks  as  a  fire  among  dry  leaves.  Besides/' 
he  added,  bending  towards  his  son  and  speaking 
in  a  lowered  and  intense  voice,  "/  have  had  a 
warning  from  Jacque" 

"What,  from  Jacque!"  exclaimed  Henry 
Pascal,  starting  from  his  seat  and  suddenly 
showing  the  most  profound  interest.  "  Has 
Jacque  Beatty  had  aught  to  say  about  this?" 

"  He  has,"  replied  his  father. 

"What  are  the  disclosures  ?"  was  the  hurried 
inquiry. 

"Two  days  ago  he  sought  me  in  private, 
and  I  will  confide  his  information  upon  the 
pledge  of  secrecy  he  required,  as  involving 
his  life." 


30          1791— A  Tale  of  San  Domingo. 

"  The  pledge  is  given,"  said  Henry  Pascal ; 
when  his  father  proceeded : 

"  Jacque's  words  were  few  but  startling — 
that  a  movement  looking  to  revolt  was  wide 
spread  and  well-organized ;  and  that  the  out 
break  would  probably  occur  within  a  few  days. 
Inquiries  could  elicit  no  more." 

"God  knows,  it  is  enough!  ejaculated  the 
younger  Pascal. 

"  The  interview  ended,"  continued  his  father, 
"  with  my  obtaining  permission  to  speak  of  his 
disclosures  to  you.  Your  duties  often  take  you 
to  the  plantations,  and,  as  you  were  uncon 
vinced  by  other  considerations,  it  becomes 
necessary  to  give  you  the  benefit  of  this  faithful 
negro's  warning." 

Henry  Pascal  for  some  moments  remained 
buried  in  thought.  By  all  who  knew  him 
Jacque  Beatty  was  held  in  the  highest  esteem. 
His  fidelity  to  the  Pascal  family  had  been 
thoroughly  tested,  and  Henry  Pascal  at  once 
realized  the  gravity  of  the  disclosure. 

"Would  it  violate  the  pledge,"  he  asked, 


1791—^4  Tale  of  San  Domingo.          31 

"  to  advise  the  authorities,  on  general  grounds, 
to  take  steps  against  the  danger?" 

"  Not  a  finger,  Henry,  can  be  raised  in  that 
direction.  The  pledge  to  Jacque,  that  what  he 
said  should  lead  to  no  action  beyond  the  per 
sonal  safety  of  my  family,  is  sacred.  He  has 
risked  his  own  life  for  mine,  and  my  word  of 
honor  shall  be  inviolate." 

"At  least  I  can  speak  to  Col.  Tourner,  and 
urge  his  coming  to  the  Cape.  The  relations  I 
bear  to  his  daughter  place  his  family  within 
the  conditions  of  the  pledge.  I  must  see  him 
to-morrow." 

Further  conversation  followed  in  this  direc 
tion,  when  the  elder  Pascal  said:  "There  is 
another  topic,  Henry,  pressing  for  considera 
tion.  You  know  the  condition  of  my  personal 
affairs.  What  real  estate  I  own  in  this  city  is 
now  all  but  valueless,  and  planting  is  carried 
on  at  a  loss.  Even  if  matters  become  no  worse, 
the  course  of  my  affairs  is  directly  towards 
bankruptcy.  An  outbreak  of  the  negroes  is 
upon  us,  and,  whether  ultimately  successful  or 
not,  it  would  further  depress  agriculture,  and  I 


32          1791— .4  Tale  of  San  Domingo. 

am  broken  up  root  and  branch.  A  frail  state 
of  health  at  my  age  excludes  the  hope  of 
rebuilding  my  fortunes,  even  should  the  colony 
prosper  again ;  and  I  must  be  looking  towards 
you,  Henry,  for  aid.  Mr.  Harrison's  con 
siderate  offer — for  so,  I  think,  I  may  call  it — 
is  most  opportune.  Your  business  here  has 
greatly  declined,  with  little  prospect  of 
recovery.  You  speak  English  as  fluently  as 
French,  and  would  have  in  Jamaica  superior 
opportunities.  I  advise  acceptance.  I  would 
go  with  you,  and  would  leave  this  accursed 
island  without  a  regret,  did  not  your  mother's 
dust  rest  within  its  soil." 

Henry  Pascal  was  a  noble  son,  full  of  warm 
sensibilities,  and  his  father's  tone  struck  deeply 
into  them.  His  filial  look  and  manner  gave 
the  true  reply.  His  words  were : 

"My  dear  father,  Mr.  Harrison's  proposal, 
as  you  are  aware,  I  have  been  very  carefully 
revolving,  and  shall  now  most  probably  feel 
obliged  to  accept  it,  though  tender  ties  bind 
me  to  St.  Domingo.  Wherever  I  am  my 
strength  is  yours,  yours  always."  And  of  the 


1791— A  Tale  of  San  Domingo.    v      33 

spirit  oi  these  words  Henry  Pascal's  entire  life 
had  been  the  faithful  expression. 

Filial  affection !  how  lovely  a  grace !  Alas ! 
that  it  is  fading  out  in  this  material  age.  Par 
ents  are  parents  still,  and  encircle  their  chil 
dren  with  pure,  rich  currents  of  love.  But 
children  know  not  parents,  or,  like  dumb  cattle, 
are  mindful  only  of  the  hand  that  provides. 
Alas !  for  our  Christian  name,  that  filial  piety 
decays,  and  to-day  finds  its  best  expression  in 
a  heathen  land. 

It  was  a  late  hour  when  Henry  Pascal  bade 
his  father  good- night,  and  left  for  his  lodgings 
on  la  rue  St.  Simon.  The  elder  Pascal  soon 
retired,  but  it  was  long  before  he  slept.  A 
thousand  thoughts  thronged  his  mind.  He 
dwelt  upon  his  married  life,  upon  its  happy 
course,  upon  his  wife's  love;  and  with  the 
memory  of  her  loss  was  mingled  a  sense  of 
satisfaction  that  she  was  removed  from  the 
burden  of  such  days.  His  mind  ran  back  to 
his  early  years,  to  the  home  of  his  youth ;  and 
the  scenes  and  incidents  illustrating  his  par 
ents'  tender  care  and  his  own  conduct  towards 
2 


34          1791 — A  Tale  of  San  Domingo. 

them  he  recalled  with  all  the  freshness  of 
yesterday.  With  a  restful  feeling  his  thoughts 
then  turned  upon  his  noble,  generous  son.  The 
angry  cloud  that  had  gathered  so  suddenly, 
and  was  about  to  burst  upon  the  distracted 
colony,  would  .complete,  he  knew,  his  financial 
ruin.  But  through  the  gloom  filial  affection 
was  a  star  of  hope  that  shone  with  a  steady 
and  cheering  ray. 


CHAPTER  III. 

LA    PLAINE    DU 


LLIAM  Tourner  came  of  a  good 
English  family.  A  wild,  reckless 
young  man,  and  overwhelmed  by 
debt,  he  fled  his  country  and  found  refuge  on 
the  island  of  Tortuga,  among  the  buccaneers  — 
a  French  and  English  piratical  aggregate.  A 
difficulty  resulted  in  the  separation  of  the 
nationalities.  The  English  buccaneers  became 
settled  in  Jamaica.  William  Tourner,  for  some 
cause,  remained  with  the  French  section,  which 
finally  secured  a  firm  footing  on  the  western 
coast  of  St.  Domingo.  There,  like  many  others 
of  the  buccaneers,  he  amended  his  ways,  became 
a  cultivator,  and  took  to  wife  a  Spanish  woman, 
from  which  union  descended  the  Col.  Tourner 
of  our  narrative. 

35 


36          1791— ^4  Tale  of  San  Domingo. 

Col.  Tourner — his  former  rank  in  a  militia 
regiment  gave  him  the  title — was  a  well- 
preserved,  middle-aged  man  of  character,  taste, 
and  cultivation.  True  to  his  English  and  Span 
ish  origin,  he  manifested,  save  to  his  intimates,  a 
somewhat  reserved  disposition,  the  more  notice 
able  among  the  lively  French  Creoles.  He  was 
blunt  of  speech  and  impatient  in  temper,  a  fre 
quent  cause  (to  speak  in  a  Johnsonian  way)  of 
his  being  disagreeable  to  others  and  a  source  of 
unhappiness  to  himself.  Those  who  knew  him 
well  valued  his  worth.  Good  men  are  better 
than  they  seem  to  be,  and  bad  men  are  worse. 

His  fortune  stood  in  his  estates,  which  he  cul 
tivated  with  pride  and  successful  care.  Though 
far  from  being  a  voluptuary,  as  the  planters 
generally  were,  he  supported,  under  a  stimulus 
from  Madame  Tourner,  a  superb  and  expensive 
establishment,  and  accumulated  little  out  of  his 
revenues.  His  Creole  wife,  nee  Marie  Andre, 
was  an  attractive  and  accomplished  woman,  free, 
affable,  amiable,  but  over-indulged  and  wordly- 
minded,  and  a  votary  to  the  ostentation  of 
wealth.  A  leader  of  fashion  and  a  devotee  to 


1791— ^4  Tale  of  San  Domingo.          37 

display,  she  maintained  an  elegant  style  of 
living,  and  paid  homage  to  riches  as  the  means 
of  gratifying  her  luxurious  tastes. 

Their  only  child  was  a  daughter,  Emilie,  a 
beautiful  character,  harmoniously  blending  the 
best  qualities  of  her  parents.  Henry  Pascal  had 
won  the  heart  of  Emilie  Tourner.  The  families 
lived  near  each  other  in  the  same  parish,  and 
were  intimate.  The  children  grew  up,  as  it 
were,  together,  and  had  formed  for  each  other 
an  affection  of  the  strength  of  which  they  were 
unconscious  until  separated  by  Elmilie  Tourner's 
going  abroad. 

The  disturbed  condition  of  France  induced 
Col.  Tourner  to  send  his  daughter  to  England  to 
complete  her  education.  Eighteen  months  be 
fore  she  had  returned  in  the  fulness  and  fresh 
ness  of  her  charms.  Henry  Pascal  eagerly 
pressed  his  suit,  and  bore  away  the  prize  from 
a  number  of  competitors.  Marriage,  however, 
had  been  deferred,  first,  by  the  death  of  Madame 
Pascal,  and  again  by  the  disastrous  conflicts 
between  the  whites  and  mulattoes,  and  the  dis 
tracted  state  of  colonial  affairs.  Among  those 


38          1791—^4  Tale  of  San  Domingo. 

who  had  sought  her  hand  was  a  young  ex- 
proprietor,  Louis  Tardiffe,  an  accomplished  man, 
but  thoroughly  unprincipled.  Shrewdly  per 
ceiving  at  the  commencement  of  revolutionary 
activity  the  probable  course  of  affairs  and  depre 
ciation  of  property,  he  had  sold  his  valuable 
San  Domingo  possessions  and  invested  the  pro 
ceeds  in  foreign  funds.  Fifty  thousand  pounds 
in  the  Bank  of  England  was  for  those  days  a 
substantial  worldly  guarantee.  Though  a  re 
jected  lover,  M.  Tardiffe  continued  to  pay 
occasional  visits  to  the  Tourner  family,  where 
he  was  warmly  received  by  Madame  Tourner, 
with  whom  he  had  early  ingratiated  himself,  and 
who  admired  him  the  more  as  the  wisdom  of  his 
investments  became  more  and  more  apparent ; 
and,  generally,  his  solid  wealth,  when  fortunes 
were  everywhere  crumbling,  made  him  a  person 
of  marked  consideration.  As  colonial  troubles 
multiplied  he  had  thoughts  of  quitting  the 
island.  A  mingled  sentiment  of  love  for  fimilie 
Tourner  and  revenge  against  his  successful  rival 
restrained  him ;  and  in  the  waning  fortunes  of 
their  families  and  his  own  secure  wealth  he 


1791—^  Tale  of  San  Domingo.          39 

began,  as  he  thought,  to  perceive  a  lever  which, 
worked  with  the  address  he  felt  conscious  of 
possessing,  might  yet  capture  the  one  and  crush 
the  hopes  of  the  other.  He  was  now  living  in 
fine  style  at  the  Cape,  on  the  interest  of  his 
investments,  and  in  politics  professed  to  be  an 
extreme  Republican. 

Belle  Vue,  the  home  of  the  Tourners,  was  five 
leagues  southward  from  Cape  Frangois,  on  the 
road  between  Petite  Ance  and  Dondon,  and  a 
league  from  the  former  village.  The  Pascal 
plantation,  known  as  Sans  Souci,  lay  a  league 
and  a  half  east  from  Belle  Vue,  on  the  road 
connecting  Petite  Ance  and  Grand  Riviere. 

A  morning  ride  in  the  West  Indies  is  de 
lightful.  But  to  enjoy  it  one  must  be  up 
betimes,  for  the  sun  rises  at  six,  and  his  early 
ray  is  powerful.  The  morning  after  the  con 
versation  given  in  the  last  chapter  Henry  Pascal 
rose  with  the  earliest  dawn.  He  had  slept  but 
little.  Thoughts  of  the  impending  revolt,  of  its 
possible  success,  of  its  disastrous  effects  in  any 
event,  of  the  distractions  it  would  add  to  the 
already  distracted  colony,  of  his  father's  embar- 


40          1791—^4  Tale  of  San  Domingo. 

rassments,  of  his  leaving  San  Domingo,  of 
Emilie  Tourner,  filled  his  mind  and  banished 
sleep  for  hours. 

He  dressed  hastily  and  looked  out.  A  rain — 
for  the  wet  season  was  at  hand — had  fallen 
during  the  night.  Save  a  stretch  in  the  east, 
which  was  slightly  reddening,  the  sky  was  still 
overcast ;  but  the  clouds  hung  high  and  moved 
lazily.  In  the  upper  air  a  few  bats  were  skim 
ming  for  the  morning's  meal.  Otherwise,  all 
nature  lay  in  repose,  and  looked  freshened  by 
the  evening's  rain.  Having  despatched  a  simple 
breakfast,  he  mounted  the  livery  bespoke  the 
previous  evening,  and,  stirring  the  mettle  of  his 
horse,  in  a  few  moments  lost  sight  of  the  Cape 
behind  the  Western  Morne. 

His  road  lay  through  the  finest  portion  of 
La  plaine  du  Nord,  and  the  opening  day  dis 
closed,  in  its  kind,  a  scene  of  unrivalled  beauty. 
The  French  colonists  adopted  every  means  to 
stimulate  and  improve  agriculture,  and  the  best 
results  were  exhibited  on  this  celebrated  plain. 
On  every  side,  the  deep,  dark,  rich  soil  was 
tilled  with  the  utmost  care,  and  with  prodigious 


1791 — A  Tale  of  San  Domingo.          41 

returns.  Separated  commonly  by  citron  hedges 
studded  with  wild  flowers  that  never  lost  their 
bloom,  field  succeeded  to  field,  the  sameness 
being  relieved  here  and  there  by  the  plantation 
houses  and  the  luxurious  mansions  ol  the  pro 
prietors  and  managers,  approached  through 
magnificent  avenues,  and  all  embowered  in  flora 
of  varied  and  splendid  description.  It  is  usual 
throughout  the  West  Indies — sometimes  on  the 
same  plantation — for  cultivation  to  be  carried 
on  the  whole  year  round.  A  ride,  therefore,  of 
a  few  miles  often  suffices — as  on  the  morning 
before  us — to  show  the  cane  at  every  stage 
of  advancement,  from  the  planting  to  the  cut 
ting.  From  the  well-kept  road — shaded  at 
almost  every  point  by  rows  of  lime-trees,  or 
the  graceful  papaw  or  spreading  mango,  and 
with  wild  flowers  innumerable  decking  its 
borders — wide  stretches  of  cane-cuttings,  of  the 
dense,  dark-green  middle  growth,  or  of  the  cane 
in  flower  and  waving  its  delicate  lilac  crest, 
came  successively  in  view.  And  when  the 
glorious  tropical  sun  arose  and  spread  his 
radiance  over  the  scene  the  effect  was  magical. 


42          1791— A  Tale  of  San  Domingo. 

The  prospect  was,  indeed,  eminently  beautiful, 
and  though  Henry  Pascal  had  ofttimes  wit 
nessed  it,  its  influence  was  still  fresh  and  irre 
sistible,  and  dispelled  for  the  moment  the  gloom 
into  which  his  thoughts  had  plunged  him. 

On  entering  the  Belle  Vue  plantation  he 
became  conscious  of  more  than  ordinary  activity 
and  bustle.  Here,  as  elsewhere,  great  columns 
of  black  smoke  were  rolling  up  from  the  sugar- 
works.  His  attention,  however,  was  particu 
larly  drawn  to  the  gangs  of  slaves,  who,  under 
the  field  overseers,  were  cutting  down  the 
straw-yellow  cane,  and,  though  at  all  times  a 
merry  race,  their  unusual  hilarity,  while  with 
boisterous  song  and  sally  they  vigorously  plied 
their  work,  indicated,  as  did  the  aspect  of  the 
fields,  the  "  Crop  Over,"  or  what  elsewhere  is 
known  as  the  "  Harvest  Home,"  when,  the  last 
cane  having  been  cut  and  sent  to  the  sugar- 
house,  each  slave  receives  a  quart  of  rum,  a 
holiday,  and  a  feast  and  dance  prepared  for 
them  on  the  green. 

A  gang  of  negro  women  near  the  road-side, 
in  turbaned  head,  and  osnaburg  petticoat  well 


1791— ^4  Tale  of  San  Domingo.          43 

tucked  in  at  the  waist,  were  especially  notice 
able  for  their  queer  song,  the  dolorous  senti 
ments  of  which  were  in  sharp  contrast  with 
their  superb  physiques  and  the  abundant 
evidences  of  rich  and  joyous  life  around  them. 
One  served  as  leader,  the  rest  joined  in  the 
refrain;  and  the  words  Englished  would  run 
as  follows : 

"  Sangaree  da  kill  de  capt'in. 

Oh!  Lor',  hemus'die; 
New  rum  kill  de  sailor, 

Oh !  Lor*,  he  mils'  die  ; 
Hard  work  kill  de  nigger, 

Oh!  Lor*,  hemus'  die.'' 

From  the  road  entrance,  framed  in  massive 
stone  and  iron,  the  approach  to  the  Belle  Vue 
mansion  was  through  an  avenue  of  superb 
mountain-cabbage  trees,  towering  often  a  hun 
dred  feet.  Behind  these  on  either  side,  and 
some  distance  off,  stood  the  negro  cabins — the 
better  class  rudely  made  of  stone,  roofed  with 
a  thatch-work  of  palm;  and  all  embowered 
among  mangoes,  Java-plums,  sour-sops,  sapa- 
dilloes,  and  other  trees  bearing  sweet  and 
pleasant  fruit.  The  mansion — an  ample  frame 


44          1791 — A  Tale  of  San  Domingo. 

building,  somewhat  low  for  its  area  and  simple 
in  structure,  yet  possessing  an  air  of  elegance, 
with  large,  high-pitched  rooms,  wide,  airy 
passages,  and  girt  with  deep  galleries  protected 
by  trellis-work  on  the  sun-exposed  sides — 
occupied  a  central  eminence  in  the  midst  of 
a  green  lawn  as  smooth  as  velvet.  A  succes 
sion  of  terraces  formed  so  many  blooming  and 
brilliant  circles.  Fountains  and  -swimming- 
pools,  cut  in  stone,  cooled  the  air.  Winding 
walks,  set  in  beautiful  little  shrubbery,  and 
shaded  by  trees  in  graceful  variety — the 
feathery-plumed  mountain  cabbage,  the  stately 
palmetto,  the  waving  cocoanut,  the  palm,  the 
papaw,  sand-box,  and  silk-cotton — led  through 
the  spacious  grounds,  the  open  places  of  which 
abounded  with  flowers,  rich  in  many  colors, 
and  splendid  beyond  description. 

Henry  Pascal  rode  up,  flung  the  reins  to  a 
valet,  and  a  moment  after  was  closeted  with 
Col.  Tourner. 

"  I  have  ridden  hard  and  early,"  he  said, 
after  the  exchange  of  salutations,  "to  make 
a  vital  disclosure,  but  require  a  pledge  to 


1791— .4  Tale  of  San  Domingo.          45 

secrecy,  and  to  no  further  action  than  the 
safety  of  your  family  may  demand." 

"  Zounds !  Henry  Pascal,  you  all  but  take 
away  my  breath,"  exclaimed  the  Colonel,  whose 
look  of  surprise  at  his  visitor's  unusually  timed 
call  and  urgent  manner  was  increased  by  his 
words ;  "  and  you  will  completely  do  so,  if  you 
strap  me  up  so  tightly." 

"There  is  no  alternative,"  Henry  Pascal 
gravely  answered. 

"  I  have  so  received  the  communication,  and 
must  so  transmit  it." 

"But,  in  all  seriousness,  monsieur,  do  you 
deem  it  wise  and  safe  to  bind  one's  self  thus 
absolutely,  and  in  regard  to  an  unknown  and 
what  you  call  vital  communication?" 

"  The  conditions,"  his  visitor  answered,  "  are 
unyielding." 

"  But,  suppose,"  the  Colonel  continued,  "  I 
should  bind  myself  to  a  wrong  ?  " 

"Col.  Tourner,"  came  the  impressive  reply, 
"I  am  here  for  your  good.  The  pledge  is 
required  for  the  protection  of  a  friend.  It 
must  be  given,  or  I  am  compelled  to  return 


46          1791— .4  Tale  of  San  Domingo. 

with  the  word  unspoken,  and  the  consequences 
upon  your  head." 

The  Colonel's  scruple  was  advanced  rather 
on  the  spur  of  the  instant  than  as  seriously 
entertained.  It  was  a  momentary  resistance 
to  a  sudden  and  unlooked-for  assault  upon  the 
will,  and  easily  gave  way,  as  reason  asserted 
its  office,  before  the  high  character  and  peculiar 
earnestness  of  his  guest.  He  therefore  added, 
after  a  moment's  pause : 

"  I  yield  the  point.  Let  me  hear  what  you 
have  to  say." 

"It  is  even  this:  Jacque  Beatty  reveals  to 
my  father  that  a  negro  insurrection  is  at  hand, 
and  has  advised  him  to  improve  his  chances  of 
safety  by  a  residence  at  the  Cape." 

"Mon  Dieu!  And  what  action  has  your 
father  taken?"  asked  the  Colonel  quickly,  and 
with  a  changing  countenance. 

"  He  is  now  domiciled  at  the  Cape,  twenty- 
four  hours  after  the  disclosure." 

"Dreadful!  dreadful!"  murmured  the  Colonel. 
"  God  take  mercy  on  us ! " 

"  But  what  precisely,"  he  added,  looking  up 


1791—^1  Tale  of  San  Domingo.          47 

at  his  visitor  in  an  eager  way,  "  did  you  gather 
from  Jacque's  communication — that  a  plot  is 
forming,  or  that  an  outbreak  is  actually  at 
hand?" 

"  The  latter,"  was  the  reply. 

"And  you  have  full  confidence  in  Jacque's 
statement?"  the  Colonel  asked. 

"Implicit.  You  must  know,  indeed,  that 
the  circumstances  of  the  colony  for  the  past 
two  years  afford  speculative  grounds  for  sup 
posing  such  an  event  highly  probable;  but 
Jacque's  word  is  enough." 

"  And  you  think,"  asked  the  Colonel  again, 
"  there  is  no  exaggeration?" 

"  You  know,  monsieur,  Jacque's  character  for 
prudence  and  fidelity.  Not  a  doubt  exists  with 
me  that  an  appalling  calamity  hangs  over  us." 

"Why,  Henry  Pascal,"  broke  out  Col. 
Tourner  as  a  new  thought  struck  him,  "I 
feel  confident  my  slaves  would  defend  me. 
They  are  preparing  to  celebrate  the  '  Crop 
Over'  this  very  evening;  and  I  have  never 
seen  them  more  contented,  or  enter  so  heartily 
into  the  spirit  of  the  occasion." 


48          1791—^4  Tale  of  San  Domingo. 

"That  may  be,"  his  visitor  rejoined;  "but 
do  you  suppose  there  are  even  chances  that 
the  defence  would  be  successful?" 

"What,  then,  in  Heaven's  name,  do  you 
advise?"  asked  Col.  Tourner,  throwing  him 
self  back  in  his  chair  with  an  air  of  anxious 
uncertainty. 

"  That  you  follow  my  father's  example,  and 
go  with  your  family  at  once  to  the  Cape." 

"  Henry  Pascal,  you  are  right,"  said  his  host 
after  a  thoughtful  pause.  "  No  other  course  is 
open.  'Twould  be  folly  to  risk  my  family  by 
remaining  here." 

"  My  GJ-od !  what  a  prospect ! "  he  bitterly 
added,  and  in  apparent  soliloquy.  "  I  have 
been  persuading  myself  that  a  brighter  day 
would  dawn;  but,  should  the  slaves  rise,  no 
hope  remains,  at  least  for  the  present  proprie 
tors.  The  colony  becomes  a  wreck,  and  all  of 
us  beggars." 

It  was  finally  arranged  that  Henry  Pascal 
should  secure  apartments  for  the  Tourners  at 
the  Hotel  de  Ville,  when  the  former,  again 
pressing  upon  the  Colonel  immediate  action, 


1791— ^4  Tale  of  San  Domingo.          49 

bade  his  host  adieu,  to  join  Emilie  Tourner, 
whom  he  had  observed  upon  the  lawn.  Slightly 
above  the  medium  height,  with  the  graceful 
symmetry  of  outline  in  form  and  feature  so 
expressive  everywhere  in  tropical  life,  in  the 
bloom  of  youth  and  health,  her  full,  dark 
eyes  beaming  with  intelligence  and  sensibility, 
Emilie  Tourner,  in  her  personal  charms,  amply 
sustained  the  reputation  for  which  Creole 
maidens  are  famous.  Her  character,  in  cer 
tain  aspects,  was  a  tropical  exception.  Possess 
ing  the  simplicity,  the  enthusiasm,  the  purity 
of  heart  and  warmth  of  affection  characteristic 
of  Creoles,  she  was  without  the  ordinary  air 
of  languor  and  tendency  to  inactivity  and 
indolence,  born  of  an  enervating  climate  and 
habitual  dependence  upon  retinues  of  slaves. 
Whether  due  to  her  remnant  of  English  blood, 
or  to  her  English  education,  or  to  both  com 
bined,  her  mental  fibre  had  in  it  a  useful 
element  of  firmness  and  energy.  If  we  add 
a  sweet  voice  and  a  winning  manner,  the 
portraiture  is  complete. 
4 


50          1791— .4  Tale  of  San  Domingo. 

Some  work  to  be  done  in  the  grounds  pre 
liminary  to  the  "Crop  Over"  had  required 
her  direction,  and  she  was  returning  as  Henry 
Pascal  approached,  her  graceful  figure  showing 
to  advantage  in  the  morning  costume — simple, 
as  became  the  hour,  yet  elegant,  as  became  the 
daughter  of  a  San  Domingo  proprietor.  They 
met  with  the  recognition  of  lovers.  Startled, 
as  her  quick  eye  read  the  troubled  mind  of 
Henry  Pascal,  Emilie  Tourner  was  the  first  to 


"Monsieur,"  she  exclaimed  hurriedly  and 
with  a  look  of  alarm,  "  what  has  happened,  tell 
me  what  has  happened  ?  You  seem  worn  and 
anxious  as  I  have  never  marked  before." 

"Be  not  disturbed,  mademoiselle;  I  slept 
little  last  night,  and  have  ridden  since  the 
morning's  dawn." 

"  Are  you  not  from  Sans  Souci?" 

"No,  mademoiselle;  I  left  the  Cape  at 
four." 

"  Why,  then,  this  long,  early  ride  ?  And  I 
am  told  by  the  valet  that  your  horse  has  been 
urged!" 


1791—^  Tale  of  San  Domingo.          51 

"  The  condition  of  the  colony,  mademoiselle, 
is  sufficient  cause  for  anxiety." 

"  Such,  monsieur,  has  been  its  condition  for 
two  years  and  more.  So  much  angry  discus 
sion,  so  much  rumor  and  turmoil  and  conflict, 
so  many  sudden  and  wild  changes — all  this  has 
bewildered  me.  I  am  kept  in  a  state  of  fearful 
expectance,  and  ready  to  start  almost  at  my  own 
shadow.  Pardon  my  precipitancy.  But  your 
look,  monsieur,  and  the  circumstances  of  your 
visit,  argue  something  unusual,  and  I  must 
know  what  it  is.  It  is  far  better,  in  these  dread 
days,  to  know  the  worst  than  be  racked  with 
imaginings  about  some  danger  suspected." 

To  this  appeal  Henry  Pascal  replied  that 
she  had  conjectured  correctly;  that  there  was 
something  unusual ;  and  that  in  truth  he  had 
sought  her  to  speak  of  it.  He  then  pointed 
out,  in  a  general  way  and  at  length,  that  the 
struggle  of  the  mulattoes  for  civil  rights  was 
exerting  the  same  influence  upon  the  negroes 
that  the  struggle  of  the  Commons  in  France 
had  exerted  upon  the  mulattoes ;  that  the 
slaves,  in  many  quarters,  were  ominously  rest- 


52          1791— .4  Tale  of  San  Domingo. 

less  and  threatening ;  that  he  greatly  feared 
they  would  very  soon  be  another  element  in 
the  disorder  of  the  colony ;  that  the  times  were 
becoming  more  lawless,  and  plantation  life 
more  unsafe;  that  his  father,  in  consequence, 
had  just  changed  his  residence  to  the  Cape; 
that  he  had  come  over  to  advise  similar  action 
to  Col.  Tourner ;  that,  as  the  result  of  the  inter 
view,  her  father  had  instructed  him  to  secure 
apartments  for  his  family  at  the  Hotel  de  Ville, 
and  that  he  earnestly  desired  her  to  stimulate 
her  parents,  so  far  as  she  could,  to  immediate 
action. 

"  I  shall  do  as  you  wish  me,"  she  answered, 
pausing  to  reply,  "for  I  confide  in  your  judg 
ment.  Yet  all  this  has  about  it  a  suddenness 
I  cannot  fathom." 

"  I  am  forbidden  now,  mademoiselle,  to  speak 
my  mind  more  fully.  You  shall  know  more 
hereafter.  Trust  me,"  he  added  in  significant 
tones,  "  and  heed  my  warning." 

She  glanced  at  her  companion,  but  said  noth 
ing.  They  had  been  slowly  walking  along  the 
shaded  way,  and  having  now  reached  a  seat 


1791— ^4  Tale  of  San  Domingo.          53 

beneath  a  silk-cotton,  occupied  it  in  silence — 
fimilie  Tourner  absorbed  in  what  she  had  just 
heard,  her  companion  in  the  thoughts  to  which 
he  was  about  to  give  expression.  Presently 
he  spoke,  and  with  a  touch  of  hesitation : 

"Mademoiselle,  I  begin  to  despair  of  the 
colony,  and  my  thoughts  have  been  running 
upon  the  Harrison  offer." 

"  0  Henry !  "  she  cried,  her  manner  suddenly 
assuming  great  tenderness,  and  tears  filling 
her  eyes,  "  will  you — can  you  add  to  these  new 
forebodings  the  prospect  of  your  leaving  San 
Domingo?" 

"  Dearest  Elmilie,"  he  replied,  deeply  touched, 
and  speaking  in  a  strain  of  equal  tenderness, 
"it  is  my  love  for  you  that  moves  me.  My 
own  business,  as  you  are  aware,  is  sadly  re 
duced.  My  father's  fortune  hangs  by  a  thread. 
He  has  but  his  estates  and  slaves.  Should 
trouble  with  the  latter  arise,  the  former  are 
valueless.  If  the  Harrison  offer  justified  it,  I 
would  ask  you  to  name  our  bridal  day,  and 
take  you  with  me  from  this  distracted  island." 

"  Have  you,  then,  decided  upon  going  ?  "  she 


54          1791 — A  Tale  of  San  Domingo. 

quickly  asked,  catching  at  what  she  supposed 
might  be  his  implied  meaning,  and  turning 
upon  her  companion  a  searching  glance. 

"  I  have  not,"  he  replied.  "  I  was  but 
speaking  of  what  might  become  necessary." 

"Do  you  think  your  going  probable?"  she 
again  asked. 

"  Press  me  not,  fimilie.  I  could  not  answer 
without  speaking  of  matters  upon  which  my 
lips  are  for  the  present  sealed." 

She  had  regained  outward  composure,  but 
deep  and  despairing  grief  was  in  her  words  as 
she  replied: 

"My  heart,  Henry,  has  become  lead,  and 
sinks  within  me.  I  thought  the  excitements 
produced  by  the  15th  of  May  decree  were 
calming  down,  and  danger  disappearing.  The 
darkness  is  gathering  again,  and  seems  deeper 
than  ever.  If  there  be  light  beyond,  G-od  help 
us  to  reach  it ! " 

"I  will  not  disguise  from  you,  fimilie," 
replied  her  lover,  pressed  with  fears,  yet  anx 
ious  to  cheer  her,  "  what  I  regard  as  the 
extreme  gravity  of  affairs ;  but  keep  a  brave 


1791 — A  Tale  of  San  Domingo.          55 

spirit.  The  skies  shall  yet  brighten  for  us. 
Hasten  your  father  to  the  Cape ;  you  will  there 
be  secure,  and  we  can  speak  together  of  these 
matters  more  fully." 

The  horse  had  been  ordered,  the  adieus  were 
spoken,  and  Henry  Pascal,  mounting  the  gig, 
and  urged  by  the  energy  of  his  thoughts,  was 
speedily  at  the  Cape  again ;  for  the  road  was 
excellent,  the  sky  still  somewhat  overcast,  and 
the  day  an  unusually  cool  one. 


CHAPTER    IV. 
A  DISCUSSION. 

|PON  the  departure  of  his  guest,  Col 
onel  Tourner  at  once  sought  his 
daughter,  and  learned  the  character 
of  the  communication  Henry  Pascal  had  made 
to  her.  They  agreed  it  would  be  better  to  defer 
speaking  to  Madame  Tourner  of  the  expected 
removal  till  the  morrow.  She  was  taking,  as 
usual  with  her,  a  lively  concern  in  the  prepara 
tions  for  the  "  Crop  Over."  A  lady  of  fashion 
though  she  was,  she  had  at  heart  warm,  tender 
sympathies,  and,  sincerely  interested  in  the 
welfare  and  happiness  of  the  slaves,  and  per 
sonally  attached  to  many  of  them,  the  "  Crop 
Over  "  was  just  the  event  to  awaken  her  kind- 
heartedness.  On  these  occasions  her  best  stores 
were  spread  without  stint  before  them,  and  she 
56 


1791— ^4  Tale  of  San  Domingo.          57 

was  now  busily  adding  to  her  stock  of  guava 
jelly  and  other  delicacies,  and  superintending 
with  great  spirit  the  general  arrangements  for 
the  feast — to  the  great  delight  of  her  husband, 
who  was  well  known  for  his  humanity  towards 
his  slaves,  and  encouraged  to  the  utmost  such 
exhibitions  of  domestic  zeal. 

The  Colonel  expressed  his  determination,  in 
view  of  the  increasing  lawlessness,  to  ride  over 
to  the  Cape  early  next  morning,  and,  if  proper 
provisions  had  been  made,  to  remove  thither 
immediately,  in  which  proposed  step  his  daugh 
ter  warmly  sustained  him. 

The  afternoon  brought  an  unexpected  and, 
under  all  the  circumstances,  an  unwelcome 
visitor  in  the  person  of  M.  Tardiffe.  He  had 
that  morning  ridden  over  to  Dondon  to  see 
some  friends.  Calling  at  Belle  Vue  on  his  way 
back  to  the  Cape,  he  accepted  a  pressing  invita 
tion  from  his  bonne  amie,  Madame  Tourner,  to 
stay  to  the  "Crop  Over." 

M.  Tardiffe  was  a  thorough  type  of  the 
Frenchman  of  the  period.  A  retrousse  nose 
and  a  pair  of  small,  bright  eyes  occupied  their 


58  1791—^4  Tale  of  San  Domingo. 

usual  place  in  an  oval,  clean-shaven,  and  secre 
tive  countenance.  He  was  marked  by  a  stoop 
in  the  shoulders,  used  glasses,  and  addressed 
one  with  a  suspicious  kind  of  smile  and  turned- 
up  cast  of  the  eyes.  The  ordinary  conception 
of  a  gentleman  he  very  well  realized,  being 
skilled  in  the  accomplishments  of  the  day, 
well-informed,  polished,  and  agreeable,  but 
withal  was  vain,  insincere,  vindictive,  and  dis 
solute — though  his  pretensions  were  otherwise. 

Preparations  in  hand  for  the  "Crop  Over" 
gave  Madame  Tourner  and  her  daughter  satis 
factory  excuses  for  absence,  and  during  the 
afternoon  Colonel  Tourner  and  his  guest  were 
together  alone.  Conversation  almost  neces 
sarily  turned  upon  politics  and  colonial  affairs, 
which,  though  apparently  not  so  threatening  as 
they  had  been  a  month  or  two  before,  were  yet 
threatening  enough,  and  were  in  the  heart  and 
on  the  lips  of  every  one. 

It  was  a  period  when  the  strifes  of  factions 
had  become  merged  into  a  sentiment  of  intense 
hostility  to  the  mother  country.  At  the  begin 
ning  of  revolutionary  activity,  and  with  an  eye 


1791— ^4  Tale  of  San  Domingo.          59 

to  the  preservation  of  slavery,  the  planters 
were  a  unit  for  legislative  independence,  it 
being  justified  in  their  view  by  the  intelligence 
and  wealth  of  the  colony  and  the  impossibility 
of  speedy  communication  with  France  over  the 
wide  ocean  between  them.  They  argued  that 
the  local  affairs  of  the  planters  would  be  best 
administered  by  the  planters  themselves,  and 
that  in  periods  of  excitement  and  danger 
prompt  and  prudent  action  by  those  on  the 
ground  and  familiar  with  all  the  circumstances 
might  be  essential  to  the  life  of  the  colony. 

But  as  the  tendency  towards  enfranchisement 
of  the  colored  races  developed  in  the  National 
Assembly,  other  parties  arose.  Some — and 
among  these  was  Colonel  Tourner — favored  a 
British  protectorate;  others  desired  colonial  in 
dependence  under  the  general  guardianship  of 
the  European  powers;  others  were  monarch 
ists,  or  friends  of  the  late  regime;  whilst  others 
were  republicans.  To  the  latter  party  belonged 
M.  Tardiffe,  who  was  conspicuous  for  cham 
pioning  the  shifting  sentiments  of  the  National 
Legislature. 


60          1791— .4  Tale  of  San  Domingo. 

These  divisions  greatly  weakened  the  cause 
of  the  whites.  They  were  suddenly  healed, 
however,  by  the  effect  of  the  15th  of  May  de 
cree,  which  terminated  the  embittered  struggle 
in  the  enfranchisement  of  the  mulattoes.  For 
two  years  the  colony  had  been  in  uproar,  often 
in  arms ;  but  the  storm  that  burst  upon  receipt 
of  the  news  of  this  decree  was  unparalleled. 
With  the  exception  of  a  few  inveterate  repub 
licans,  all  parties  at  once  became  consolidated 
against  the  mother  country.  In  the  Northern 
province,  and  especially  in  its  capital,  Cape 
Frangois,  the  feeling  was  exceptionally  intense. 
A  motion  was  made  in  the  Provincial  Assem 
bly,  then  in  session  at  the  Cape,  to  reject  the 
civic  oath  and  raise  the  British  flag.  A  depu 
tation  was  forthwith  despatched  to  France  to 
intercede  for  the  repeal  of  the  obnoxious  decree, 
the  execution  of  which  the  governor-general  at 
the  peril  of  his  life  was  forced  to  suspend  until 
the  result  of  the  embassy  should  be  ascertained. 
The  hopes  thus  raised  had  abated  somewhat 
the  outward  agitation;  a  deep  and  wrathful 
feeling  nevertheless  remained. 


1791— ^4  Tale  of  San  Domingo.          61 

The  mulattoes,  on  their  part,  furious  at  the 
palpable  injustice  done  them  and  the  cow 
ardly  conduct  of  the  governor-general,  sullenly 
awaited  the  aid  of  the  French  government. 
The  disastrous  issue  of  former  conflicts  alone 
restrained  them  from  open  hostilities.  The 
two  parties  thus  stood  at  daggers  drawn,  and 
a  dreadful  sense  of  uncertainty  and  insecurity 
pervaded  the  colony. 

At  this  crisis  M.  Tardiffe,  alone  among 
the  prominent  citizens  of  the  Cape,  remained 
attached  to  the  republican  cause,  even  up  to 
the  point  of  justifying  the  15th  of  May  decree. 
A  close  observer  of  events  in  France,  he  foresaw 
the  triumph  of  the  extreme  republicans,  and 
having  no  property  interests  in  San  Domingo . 
to  be  affected  by  the  immediate  results  of  the 
Jacobin  policy  towards  universal  liberty,  he 
was  influenced  by  a  not  uncommon  political 
incentive,  the  wish  to  be  on  the  winning  side. 
He  predicted  the  speedy  emancipation  of  the 
slaves,  and  even  went  so  far  as  to  hold  that  it 
would  be  to  the  ultimate  benefit  of  the  colony. 
These  opinions,  freely  advocated  in  public, 


62          1791— A  Tale  of  San  Domingo. 

drew  upon  him  an  excessive  degree  of  odium. 
On  more  than  one  occasion  violence  was  offered 
him,  and  his  life  being  seriously  threatened, 
he  took  the  advice  of  friends  and  for  a  period 
withdrew  from  the  Cape,  remaining  at  Dondon, 
where  he  had  relatives.  Under  these  circum 
stances,  he  became  exceedingly  popular  with 
the  mulattoes  and  blacks,  and  suddenly  rose  to 
great  influence  over  them.  His  name  was 
everywhere  on  their  lips,  and  far  and  wide  he 
was  known  as  Vami  des  noirs.  He  was  now 
at  the  Cape  again,  for  the  excitements  had 
sensibly  declined.  But  his  opinions  he  held 
very  quietly,  and,  though  no  craven,  deemed  it 
advisable  to  withdraw  almost  entirely  from 
public  view. 

Restless  under  this  mental  repression  and 
seclusion,  it  was  with  a  sense  of  relief  that  he 
discussed  affairs  with  Colonel  Tourner.  Their 
opinions  differed  widely.  But  on  former  occa 
sions  they  had  amicably  debated  their  differ 
ences,  and  though  the  Colonel  understood  the 
character  of  his  guest,  and  had  no  special 
admiration  for  him,  yet  M.  Tardiffe's  manner 


1791—^4  Tale  of  San  Domingo.          63 

was  conciliating,  and  the  latter  felt  safe  in 
giving  free  expression  to  his  views. 

On  Colonel  Tourner's  part  the  conversation 
at  the  outset  was  reluctant  and  cold.  The 
interview  with  Henry  Pascal  had  left  him 
abstracted  and  moody,  and  he  would  greatly 
have  preferred  his  visitor's  absence.  His 
heart,  however,  held  a  heated  current  of 
thought,  which,  struck  by  M.  Tardiffe,  soon 
sent  glow  and  point  into  the  dialogue. 

"  I  am  happy,  Monsieur  Tourner,"  said  M. 
Tardiffe,  in  his  smiling  way  and  florid  style, 
"  that  affairs  wear  a  more  improved  aspect  than 
when  we  last  met." 

"  I  see  no  change  but  for  the  worse,"  was  the 
somewhat  short  answer. 

"For  the  worse!  Ma  foi,  monsieur,  you 
must  speak  jestingly." 

"There  are  maladies,  Monsieur  Tardiffe, 
wherein  the  sufferer  outwardly  seems  rallying, 
while  inwardly  the  disease  hastens  its  deadly 
work." 

"  Pardon  me,  but  I  fail  to  comprehend." 

"  I  mean  this,"  said  the  Colonel :  "  the  shilly- 


64          1791—^4  Tale  of  San  Domingo. 

shally  course  of  that  madcap  body,  the  National 
Assembly,  now  favoring  the  whites  and  now 
the  mulattoes,  has  so  embittered  the  struggle, 
and  so  spun  out  the  wrangle  over  what  are 
called  the  natural  rights  of  man,  that  Jacobin 
follies  have  taken  root  among  the  slaves,  and 
I  fear  we  are  threatened  with  a  strike  for 
freedom,  which  would  give  the  colony  its  coup 
de  grace" 

"  You  astonish  me,  monsieur,  and  I  must 
regard  your  view  a  mistaken  one." 

"  Very  well,  we  shall  see." 

"  The  aspiration  for  freedom,"  continued  M. 
Tardiffe,  "has  doubtless  been  caught  by  the 
blacks ;  but  it's  incredible  they  should  attempt 
to  realize  it  by  violence,  when  a  legal  and 
peaceful  medium  is  perceived  to  be  at  hand." 

"  You  think,  then,  the  slaves  will  be  free, 
one  way  or  another? " 

"I  do,  monsieur.  Prance  will  confirm  the 
enfranchisement  of  the  mulattoes,  the  current 
is  all  in  that  direction  ;  and  the  freedom  of  the 
slaves  must  ensue  as  a  logical  sequence." 

"  So  says  the  Abbe  Gregoire." 


1791 — A  Tale  of  San  Domingo.          65 

"  Yes,  monsieur,  and  a  noble  letter  the  Abbe 
has  written." 

"Noble!  forsooth!"  exclaimed  the  Colonel 
with  a  frown.  "  Yes — noble  you  may  call  it,  if  to 
breed  rebellion  and  blood  be  noble !  The  slaves 
understand  that  letter  far  too  well." 

"They  also  understand,  Monsieur  Tourner, 
how  affairs  in  France  are  progressing  in  their 
favor.  Why  should  they  attempt  to  seize  the 
prize,  when  a  resort  to  violence  would  ensure 
the  postponement  of  it,  quite  probably  the 
absolute  loss?  Their  peaceable  emancipation, 
monsieur,  I  believe  would  be  for  the  advantage 
of  us  all." 

"  Pshaw ! "  replied  the  Colonel,  rising  and 
showing  impatience  at  the  sentiment — "  I  have 
looked  carefully  into  this  question  myself,  yet 
know  no  grounds  for  any  such  notion." 

"What  say  you  to  the  abstract  ground, 
Monsieur  Tourner?  Has  not  the  negro  a 
natural  right  to  be  free  ?  " 

"  Let  me  tell  you — and  pardon  my  plain 
speaking — that  when  I  hear  one  propose  a  view 
in  the  abstract,  I  am  ready  to  hear  nonsense. 
5 


66          1791— A  Tale  of  San  Domingo. 

The  circumstances  and  qualities  of  a  thing  are 
a  part  of  the  thing  itself.  Abstractions  are 
mental  toys,  and  cannot  solve  real  questions. 
Take  the  negro  as  he  is  among  us,  with  all  his 
surroundings,  and  what  are  your  emancipation 
reasons,  or  grounds  for  believing  he  has  the 
wits  for  self-government  and  becoming  a  fit 
factor  in  our  civilization  ?  " 

Colonel  Tourner  delivered  this  with  an  en 
ergy  that  surprised  his  guest.  The  latter, 
however,  whilst  resolved  not  to  offend  the  Col 
onel  whom  he  had  special  reasons  for  wishing  to 
please,  accepted  the  challenge,  and  continued : 

"Is  not  the  negro,  monsieur,  of  the  same 
stock  with  ourselves,  and  must  we  not  suppose 
he  possesses  capabilities  qualifying  him  to 
reach  our  altitude  ?  " 

"  Of  the  same  stock  with  ourselves,  eh  ? — 
How  do  you  account  for  his  black  skin  and 
negro  tokens  ?  " 

"  By  climatic  influence.  My  opinion  is,  that 
the  human  race  was  one  at  the  first  in  origin 
and  color — that  it  multiplied  and  spread — 
and  that  separate  sections,  settled  in  different 


1791— ^4  Tale  of  San  Domingo.          67 

latitudes,  took  on,  under  climatic  influences 
acting  with  abnormal  force  in  that  early  and 
impressionable  period  of  the  race's  age — took 
on,  I  say,  monsieur,  under  these  circumstances, 
different  hues,  which,  as  the  race  grew  and 
hardened,  crystallized  into  permanent  charac 
teristics.  Those  who  first  dwelt  beneath  a 
tropical  sun,  became  negroes." 

"  Clearly,  but  partially  put,  Monsieur  Tar- 
diife.  Now  hear  my  opinion :  it  is  that  mental 
change  and  bodily  change  were  contempo 
raneous,  and  that  the  same  tropical  sun  which 
blackened  the  skin  and  crinkled  the  hair  of 
those  first  dwellers,  permanently  weakened  the 
brain  also,  whereby  the  negro  is  unfitted  for 
successful  freedom  by  the  side  of  the  white 


man." 


"  You  push  the  climatic  effect  too  far,  mon 


sieur." 


"  I  see  not  how.  I  know  no  ground  to  bar 
the  mental  change.  Every  thing  whitens  to 
wards  the  poles,  and  darkens  and  degenerates 
towards  the  equator — at  least  as  respects  man. 
His  most  perfect  development  is  in  the  centre 


68          1791— .4  Tale  of  San  Domingo. 

of  the  temperate  continents;  and  the  first 
dwellers  there  were  the  ancestors  of  the  white 
race,  who,  beneath  a  friendly  sun,  permanently 
received,  in  that  early  and  impressionable  age 
you  speak  of,  their  superiorities  over  the  black- 
skin  brother." 

"You  are  hard  upon  Monsieur  le  Noir" 
replied  M.  Tardiffe,  somewhat  disconcerted  by 
the  unforeseen  turn  in  his  argument. 

"  Do  you  think  I  am  one  to  be  unfair  to  the 
negro  ? "  asked  the  Colonel,  with  a  spice  of 
warmth. 

"No,  no,  monsieur,  not  intentionally.  I 
recognize  fully  your  well- deserved  reputation 
as  an  exceptionally  benevolent  master,  and  I 
believe  you  are  ready  to  credit  the  negro  with 
the  abilities  you  honestly  regard  him  as  pos 
sessing.  But  I  think  you  underrate  those 
abilities.  There  are  facts,  plain  facts,  mon 
sieur,  that  support  higher  claims  than  you 
allow." 

"  Facts  are  jewels,"  remarked  the  Colonel. 

"  The  facts  I  refer  to,"  continued  his  guest, 
"are  the  talents  and  erudition  individual 


1791— A  Tale  of  San  Domingo.          69 

negroes  have  displayed,  and  which  gauge  the 
possibilities  of  the  race." 

"  Give  your  facts." 

"Well — Benjamin  Bannaker  is  a  notable  one, 
a  Maryland  negro,  residing  near  Baltimore." 

"  Bannaker  is  not  unknown  to  me,"  said 
Colonel  Tourner. 

"  You  know,  then,  his  reputation  for  eminent 
scientific  attainments — they  have  been  recog 
nized  by  the  savants  of  France.  Monsieur 
Pascal,  Jr.,  has  one  of  Bannaker's  almanacs, 
received  through  his  Baltimore  house,  and  it 
is  a  monument  to  this  negro's  astronomical 
abilities." 

"Bannaker  is  a  man  of  science,"  answered 
Colonel  Tourner,  "  and  deserves  the  more  praise, 
because  his  chances  have  been  few  and  scant. 
But  can  he  be  a  warrant  for  the  intellectual 
hope  of  the  negro,  when  his  grandmother  was 
a  white  woman  ?  " 

"  It's  true,"  continued  the  Colonel  in  answer 
to  M.  Tardiffe's  expression  of  surprise.  "  His 
grandmother  was  a  Welsh  woman,  who  freed 
one  of  her  slaves  and  then  married  him ;  and  I 


70          1791— A  Tale  of  San  Domingo. 

fancy  Bannaker's  fine  gifts  are  rather  to  be 
traced  to  his  large  measure  of  white  blood." 

"Well,  well,  Monsieur  Tourner,  I  own  to 
little  knowledge  about  Bannaker,  beyond  his 
very  remarkable  ^ciics.  Should  he  prove 
unavailable  for  my  purpose,  I  am  yet  not 
without  examples." 

"  Let  me  hear  them,"  the  Colonel  said.  "This 
question  has  been  a  study  with  me,  and  I 
welcome  any  light  you  can  shed  upon  it." 

"  I  direct  your  attention,  then,  to  one  Thomas 
Fuller,  a  pure  African,  I  believe — if  I  mistake 
not,  an  imported  African — a  United  States 
negro,  too,  resident  in  the  State  of  Virginia. 
The  accounts  are,  that,  entirely  unaided,  Fuller 
has  attained  phenomenal  proficiency  as  a  calcu 
lator,  being  able,  by  pure  mental  effort  and 
more  rapidly  than  the  scholar's  pencil,  to  solve 
the  most  difficult  questions,  involving  series  of 
multiplications,  and  with  products  extending 
into  the  millions." 

"  I  make  a  note  of  all  such  cases,  Monsieur 
Tardiffe,  and  know,  too,  something  of  '  Negro 
Tom,'  as  he  is  called." 


1791— ^4  Tale  of  San  Domingo.          71 

"  Very  well — and  what  think  you  of  '  Negro 
Tom,'  as  an  argument  ? 

"Are  you  aware  that  this  negro  can  neither 
read  nor  write,  and  that,  beyond  his  wonderful 
gift  for  calculation,  there  is  nothing  to  show  he 
has  more  than  a  common-place  negro  mind?" 

"Indeed!" 

"Such  are  the  facts,  as  I  have  read  them; 
and  his  case  is  of  a  piece  with  those  negroes — 
some  have  come  under  my  eye — in  whom  a 
rare  musical  gift  allies  itself  with  a  general 
mental  state  verging  almost  upon  idiotcy." 

"Nevertheless,"  replied  M.  Tardiife,  "these 
facts  are  intellectual  phenomena,  and  possess 
significance.  How  will  you  value  them  ?  " 

"As  tokens  of  a  high  origin — as  signs  of 
what  the  source  of  the  race  is,  not  of  what  the 
race  itself  will  be.  Look  around  you,  Monsieur 
Tardiife.  What  promise  do  you  see  of  advanced 
mental  life  in  the  negroes,  as  a  whole  ?  Is  not 
the  intelligence  of  the  lower  races  centred  in 
the  mulattoes,  and  in  them  as  they  near  the 
white  stock?  Look  down  the  course  of  his 
tory.  Where  has  the  African  built  cities, 


72          1791— ^4  Tale  of  San  Domingo. 

adorned  letters,  or  founded  great  and  conquer 
ing  states?" 

"  We  should  look  forward"  eagerly  interposed 
M.  Tardiffe,  "  for  negro  civilization,  and  believe 
that  as  Asia  was  once  in  the  ascendant,  as  Eu 
rope  is  now,  so  the  day  for  Africa  is  to  dawn." 

"  Monsieur,"  rejoined  the  Colonel,  "  the 
growth  of  civilization  is  not  the  evolution  of  suc 
cessive  continents.  If  civilization  has  withered 
in  one  quarter  to  bloom  in  another,  it  has  been 
brought  forth,  in  every  instance,  by  some  variety 
of  the  white  or  yellow  race.  Sixty  centuries  have 
passed,  yet  Africa  remains  the  dark  continent. 
If  the  blacks  have  the  capabilities  you  claim 
for  them,  it  is  incredible  that  the  history  of  the 
world  should  not  point  to  a  single  illustration. 
I  grant  the  talents  and  culture  of  individual 
Africans,  such  as  Amo,  Capitein,  and  Phillis 
Wheatley;  but,  believing  the  negro  to  be  a  dete 
riorated  part  of  the  human  family,  these  occa 
sional  instances  of  cultivation,  and  such  mental 
marvels  as  <  Negro  Tom '  exhibits,  are  proofs,  to 
my  mind,  of  a  noble  ancestry  from  which  the  race 
has  fallen,  not  of  a  height  it  is  yet  to  reach." 


1791—^4  Tale  of  San  Domingo.          73 

"Monsieur,"  said  M.  Tardiffe,  resisting  a 
Voutrance,  "  you  furnish  material  for  reflection, 
but  I  agree  not  with  you.  Was  not  the  primi 
tive  condition  of  man,  let  me  ask,  that  of  a 
savage?" 

"Civilized  man,  then,  has  risen  from  sav- 
ageism,  eh  ?  " 

"  Precisely  so,  Monsieur  Tourner ;  and  when 
the  critical  influence  reaches  the  negro,  or  the 
proper  impact  from  without  strikes  him,  why 
should  he  not  rise  too,  as  the  whites  have 
done?" 

"  Perhaps  you  go  a  step  further,  and  imagine 
what  in  these  days  we  are  beginning  to  hear, 
that  the  savage  has  risen  from  the  ape,  eh?" 

"  The  theory  appears  plausible." 

"Bagatelle  que  tout  cela!"  broke  out  the 
Colonel — "  a  theory  certain  savants  are  amus 
ing  their  leisure  with.  Have  you  read  their 
books  ?  " 

"  Some  of  them." 

"Don't  they  assume  that  developments  in 
nature  are  smooth  and  gradual  ?  " 

"  Yes,  monsieur." 


74          1791—  A  Tale  of  San  Domingo. 


,   then,   do  they  fill  the  sudden  and 
broad  gap  between  the  savage  and  the  ape?" 

"By  an  extinct  species  of  lemur,  known  to 
savants  as  a  pentadactyle,  plantigrade  buno- 
dont." 

"Their  learned  jargon!  Has  this  five- 
fingered,  flat-footed  bunodont,  as  they  term 
it,  ever  been  seen?" 

"  It  is  visible,  monsieur,  to  the  eye  of  science." 

"Have  any  traces  of  it  in  what  are  called 
the  geological  ages,  ever  been  found?  " 

"Savants  explain  their  absence,  monsieur, 
through  a  theory  of  fossil  formation." 

"Yes,  yes,"  responded  the  Colonel,  "they 
have  troops  of  theories,  I  own.  See  here, 
Monsieur  Tardiffe,  this  fancied  ape  is  the  latest 
of  its  kind.  There  are  numbers  of  older  and 
living  species.  How  happens  it  that  this  has 
been  lost  ?  Let  them  find  it,  or  show  traces  of 
it,  and  prove  the  link,  or  yield  to  man  a  free 
chain  of  his  own." 

"  Well,  monsieur,  dismiss  the  ape,  if  you 
will.  N'importe.  But,  apropos,  allow  me  one 
question:  Is  not  civilization  a  development?" 


1791— ,4  Tale  of  San  Domingo.          75 

"Yes." 

"  Very  well :  are  not  civilized  peoples  devel 
opments  from  savage  peoples  ?  " 

"No — certainly  not  from  savages  of  the  lower 
grade." 

"What  say  you,  then,  of  the  Groths  and 
Vandals,  and  other  northern  ancestors  of  the 
present  European  nations?" — and  M.  Tardiife's 
keen  little  eyes  sparkled  again  at  having,  as  he 
supposed,  caught  the  Colonel  in  a  corner. 

"  That  they  were  not  degraded  savages." 

"Not  savages,  monsieur,  when  their  name 
is  a  synonym  for  all  that  is  merciless  and  vile ! " 

"I  say,  not  degraded  savages,"  replied  the 
Colonel.  "  The  accounts  we  have  of  them  are 
mainly  from  their  enemies.  The  Gothic  races 
lived  in  villages,  followed  husbandry  and  the 
chase,  were  organized  into  powerful  military 
bodies,  and  showed  aptitude  for  the  higher 
culture  the  moment  they  touched  it.  Take  the 
fiercest  of  them  all,  Attila  and  his  Huns. 
Their  war  with  the  Roman  Empire  was  a 
struggle  between  the  free  life  of  the  plains  and 
those  luxurious  settlements  of  Southern  Europe 


76          1791— A  Tale  of  San  Domingo. 

that  had  transferred  political  power  to  some  of 
the  meanest  and  basest  of  mankind.  Attila, 
their  king,  could  entertain  Roman  Embassa- 
dors  with  dignity  and  splendor,  and  was  offered 
in  marriage  the  sister  of  a  Roman  Emperor. 
Do  you  place  such  a  people,  sir,  on  the  level  of 
African  savages,  with  wooly  head  and  turned- 
out  lip?" 

M.  Tardiffe  sat  silent,  and  the  Colonel  con 
tinued  : 

"  BTo,  monsieur,  I  do  not  believe  that  civiliza 
tion  has  its  sources  in  savageism.  What  does 
this  new  science  of  geology  witness,  but  that 
the  oldest  and  lowest  manhood  is  a  real  man 
hood? — that  in  the  deepest  strata  in  which 
human  remains  are  found,  we  find  a  real  man, 
not  a  savage,  but  a  real  man,  bearing  rule  over 
nature,  and  with  aptitudes  giving  the  hope  of 
what  he  has  since  become?  And  when  life's 
river  appears  within  the  bounds  of  history,  it  is 
seen  to  flow  nobly  from  the  start,  and  ever 
maintains,  at  some  point  at  least,  a  high  level. 
If  it  lowers  in  one  quarter,  it  swells  in  another. 
From  time  to  time  it  renews  itself  by  a  union 


1791— A  Tale  of  San  Domingo.          77 

of  currents,  and  is  illustrated  in  its  course  by 
the  Mosaic  writings,  Assyrian  and  Egyptian 
grandeur,  Greek  art  and  poetry,  Roman  law, 
and  modern  civilization.  The  lower  forms  of 
savageism,  sir,  are  certain  chronic  degenera 
tions,  the  swamps  and  bogs  along  its  banks." 

At  this  point  the  entrance  of  a  servant  with 
sangaree  and  fruit  interrupted  the  discussion. 
It  was  renewed,  almost  immediately,  under 
a  special  and  practical  shape — the  effect  of 
emancipation  in  St.  Domingo. 

"  Monsieur  Tardiffe,"  said  Colonel  Tourner — 
having  dismissed  the  valet,  and  now  assuming 
the  aggressive,  "  what  grounds  have  you  for  the 
notion  that  freedom  would  prove  a  betterment 
to  this  colony  ?  " 

"  I  can  express  it  in  one  word,"  replied  M. 
Tardiffe,  as  he  drained  a  glass  of  sangaree — 
"the  blacks  would  be  free  to  develop  their 
capabilities ;  and  the  whites  could  then  procure 
more  intelligent  workmen,  without  the  burden 
of  many  slaves  either  too  young  or  too  old  to 
labor." 

"  Do   you  imagine  the  two  peoples  would 


78          1791— A  Tale  of  San  Domingo. 

grow  side  by  side  peacefully,  without  race 
jealousies  and  struggles  ?  " 

"  In  great  social  revolutions,  monsieur,  jar- 
rings  must  accompany  adjustments.  C'est  in 
evitable.  But  adjustment  must  come,  and  with 
advantage,  since  the  change  would  rest  on 
justice." 

"  Is  it  your  opinion,  Monsieur  Tardiffe,  that 
the  two  peoples  would  remain  apart?  " 

"For  a  period,  undoubtedly.  But  as  the 
blacks  attain  wealth  and  cultivation,  why 
should  there  not  be  a  gradual  coalescence?" 

"Humph!"  was  the  Colonel's  brief  reply, 
given  very  expressively. 

"The  twenty  thousand  mulatto  half-breeds 
among  us,"  his  guest  went  on,  "with  every 
circumstance  most  unfavorable  for  the  blacks, 
I  take  as  a  pledge  for  such  a  result,  when  the 
blacks,  free  and  advancing,  shall  have  reversed 
these  circumstances." 

The  Colonel's  question  had  been  in  a  measure 
leading,  and  the  answer  made  not  unantici 
pated,  but  M.  Tardiife's  manner  was  so  cool 
and  matter-of-course,  and  his  response  such  a 


1791— A  Tale  of  San  Domingo.          79 

combination  of  statement  and  argument,  that 
the  Colonel  fired  up  and  delivered  a  hot  reply. 

"  In  the  lusty  roves  of  white  men  among 
slaves  I  see  no  tendency  towards  a  proper 
blending  of  bloods,  Monsieur  Tardiffe.  Fusion, 
sir,  would  follow  from  the  thorough  social 
intermingling  of  the  two  races  on  terms  of 
unconsciously  recognized  equality,  and  the 
freedom  of  marriage  across  the  color  line — and 
the  bar  to  this,  sir,  I  hold  to  be  insuperable." 

"  Monsieur,  you  speak  positively,"  answered 
M.  Tardiffe,  in  his  usual,  inflated  way ;  "nev 
ertheless  I  am  constrained  to  believe  such 
a  coalescence  both  reasonably  possible,  and 
highly  probable." 

"Hut!  tut!"  the  Colonel  exclaimed.  "Eman 
cipation,  citizenship,  full  political  rights,  may  be 
possibilities,  but  social  fusion,  never ! !  Fusion 
with  the  blacks,  forsooth !  Become  what  they 
may,  negroes  will  never  see  union  with  the 
children  or  children's  children  of  their  masters. 
Set  it  down  as  a  sure  thing.  The  whites  would 
spurn  honorable  alliance  with  them,  as  they 
have  done  with  the  bastard  mulatto." 


80          1791— A  Tale  of  San  Domingo. 

"  Your  prejudices,  Monsieur  Turner,  are  par 
donable." 

"  Call  it  prejudice  or  what  not,  it  has  a  scien 
tific  and  permanent  basis.  This  fusion  you 
speak  of,  sir,  is  forbidden  by  natural  laws." 

"What !  Are  my  ears  open ?  Forbidden  by 
natural  laws,  do  you  say,  when  the  wise  inform 
us  that  mingling  of  bloods  is  an  ethical  bless 
ing?" 

"Mixing  bloods  is  not  a  blessing,  unless 
between  varieties  of  the  same  group." 

"  I  do  not  altogether  perceive  your  meaning, 


monsieur." 


"I  mean,  that  mankind  is  marked  off  by 
color  into  three  great  groups,  white,  yellow, 
black;  that  the  blending  of  varieties  within 
each  group  is  a  betterment,  but  not  the  blend 
ing  of  the  groups  themselves." 

"Ah!  monsieur,"  said  M.  Tardiffe  smilingly, 
"  you  are  representing  the  theory  of  some  intense 
Caucasian,  no  doubt." 

"  Theories  were  in  order  just  now,  to  coin  the 
bunodont,"  answered  the  Colonel,  relaxing  him 
self  into  a  grim  sort  of  smile;  "but  I  give 


1791—^4  Tale  of  San  Domingo.          81 

demonstrations :  The  Griquas  of  South  Africa, 
hybrids  of  Dutch  colonists  and  Hottentots — 
the  Mongolian  and  Slavic  mixture  of  Russian- 
Asia — the  Portuguese  and  negro  half-breeds  of 
Brazil — mongrel  races,  in  make  and  mind  and 
morals  below  the  baser  stock — are  the  facts  in 
proof  of  what  I  say." 

"  Monsieur  Tourner,  I  confront  facts  with 
facts.  In  spite  of  the  obstacles  a  powerful  race 
prejudice  originates,  are  not  many  of  the  wealth 
iest,  best  educated,  and  most  respectable  among 
us,  the  half-breed  mulattoes  ?  " 

"  That  certain  grades  of  the  mulatto  are  far 
above  the  negro,  I  allow ;  but  others  are  below 
him,  and  experiments  show  that  the  blending 
of  whites  and  blacks  would  end  in  a  debased 
hybrid  race  inferior  to  the  native  negro 
ancestry." 

"  Permit  me,  monsieur,  for  the  word  '  experi 
ments  '  to  suggest '  race  partialities,'  as  being  a 
more  accurate  term." 

"  They  are  the  experiments,  sir,  of  those 
men  of  science  to  whom  you  have  shown  a 
willingness  to  appeal,  and  the  result,  mark  you, 
6 


82          1791— .4  Tale  of  San  Domingo. 

is  fact,  not  theory.  Suppose  fusion  effected, 
sir,  and  the  white  blood  of  this  colony  all 
absorbed  by  negro  embraces.  It  is  certain 
that,  under  the  division  and  subdivision  of  the 
white  element,  the  grade  of  the  mixed  race 
would  rapidly  lower,  and  sink  to  points  beneath 
the  negro  level.  Fusion  across  the  color-line 
would  prove  a  pure  curse,  Monsieur  Tardiife ; 
and  the  riddle  for  emancipationists  is  to  find 
betterment  in  turning  loose  half  a  million  negro 
slaves  among  one- tenth  their  number  of  highly 
cultivated  whites,  the  former  scarcely  raised 
above  savageism,  and  the  two  races  remaining 
rigidly  apart." 

"  It  occurs  to  me,  Monsieur  Tourner,  that  for 
a  practical  man  you  expend  a  vast  deal  of  vigor 
upon  a  somewhat  theoretical  question.  Should 
it  ever  be  at  all,  complete,  unobstructed  amal 
gamation  is  in  the  far  future.  Suppose  the 
races  are  to  continue  asunder.  Why  should  they 
not  improve  severally,  and  be  mutual  helps  ?  " 

"  Two  free  peoples,  standing  apart,  will  not 
go  forward  side  by  side,  without  a  struggle  for 
the  mastery,"  was  the  Colonel's  reply.  "The 


1791— A  Tale  of  San  Domingo.          83 

world  has  never  seen  it,  and  a  priori  grounds 
are  all  against  it." 

"  Methinks  an  intense  Caucasian  like  Mon 
sieur  Tourner  should  not  object  to  the  struggle, 
seeing  all  the  advantages  would  be  on  his  side." 

"  What  think  you  the  odds  are  ?  "  asked  the 
Colonel. 

"Why,  monsieur,  the  immense  superiority 
of  the  whites  in  respect  to  wealth,  intelligence, 
and  prestige." 

"  There  is  a  point,  Monsieur  Tardiffe,  where, 
under  forms  of  law,  mere  numbers  will  over 
match  wealth,  intelligence,  and  prestige,  com 
bined.  The  blacks  are  more  than  ten  to  one 
against  us." 

"  But  would  the  blacks  be  disposed  to  utilize 
their  power  ?  The  submissiveness  born  of  slav 
ery  must  needs  linger  long  among  them,  and 
the  race  is  known  to  be  unambitious  and  un- 
persistent." 

"  Yet  are  they  capable,"  replied  the  Colonel, 
"  of  sudden  and  great  effort  for  an  immediate 
end ;  and,  roused  and  banded  by  a  powerful 
esprit  de  corps,  the  outcome  of  white  repugnance 


84          1791— A  Tale  of  San  Domingo. 

and  repression,  they  would  resent  the  attempt 
to  hold  them  as  underlings.  Realizing  their 
power  and  led  by  demagogues,  they  would 
seize  political  power,  and  use  it  for  race  ends. 
The  negro  heel,  sir,"  exclaimed  the  Colonel, 
with  an  outburst  of  startling  energy,  "  would 
be  on  the  neck  of  the  white  man,  and  kept 
there  by  the  mere  inertia  of  the  mass.  St. 
Domingo  would  become  a  hell,  sir — the  prince  of 
tyrants  is  he  who  has  once  been  a  slave  /" 

A  knowledge  of  the  brewing  plot  imparted 
to  the  Colonel's  conversation  a  peculiar  point 
and  bitterness,  which,  in  view  of  the  apparently 
improved  condition  of  affairs,  was  a  constant 
source  of  surprise  to  M.  Tardiffe.  He  could 
not  understand  it.  Astonished  now  at  the  vehe 
mence  of  his  host,  he  remained  silent,  and  the 
Colonel  continued : 

"What,  Monsieur  Tardiffe,  are  the  leading 
traits  of  the  negro  ?  I  pass  by  theft  and  false 
hood.  They  are  the  vices  of  slaves.  Let 
slavery,  too,  explain,  if  it  can,  why  the  negro 
shrinks  from  thought,  from  foresight,  and  from 
toil.  The  race,  sir,  is  gay  and  jovial,  but,  mark 


1791—^4  Tale  of  San  Domingo.          85 

you,"  he  added,  raising  the  finger  of  emphasis, 
"it  is  cruel,  revengeful,  and  intensely  lewd.  By 
whom  are  the  most  fiendish  crimes  done  among 
us?  We  shield  our  daughters  red-handed,  and 
the  doom  of  the  negro  ravisher  is  swift  and 
terrible.  Yet  does  not  his  powerful  lust  often 
brave  this  doom  in  the  beastliest  and  most 
pitiful  outrage  ?  Let  the  swelling  numbers  of 
this  people,  chafed  by  race  antagonisms  into 
vindictive  moods,  once  get  the  upper  hand,  and 
what  fate,  sir,  awaits  the  whites? " 

"  At  the  approach  of  such  danger,  monsieur, 
they  would  of  course  depart  the  island." 

"Yes,  they  would  be  driven  out  in  stark 
beggary — what  would  be  left  of  them." 

"  Well,  monsieur,"  said  M.  Tardiife,  deeming 
it  advisable  to  shift  the  point,  "  you  must  allow, 
that  the  tendency  of  the  age  is  to  advance  the 
political  power  of  the  commons,  and  they  rule 
through  majorities.  I  put  an  imaginary  case. 
Suppose  that  numbers  have  prevailed  and  that 
the  whites  have  emigrated,  leaving  the  blacks 
in  sole  control.  Do  you  think,  with  the  monu 
ments  of  civilization  before  them  and  the 


86          1791—^4  Tale  of  San  Domingo. 

memory  of  its  methods  fresh,  they  would 
improve?" 

"  No !  I  do  not,"  was  the  Colonel's  emphatic 
reply.  "Semi-savages,  used  to  no  other  sub 
ordination  than  that  of  domestic  slavery,  could 
not  unite  in  the  relations  of  regular  govern 
ment,  or  be  moulded  into  a  system  of  artificial 
society." 

"  I  do  not  mean,  Monsieur  Tourner,  that  the 
negro  would  immediately,  or  within  a  genera 
tion,  become  an  enlightened  citizen ;  but  would 
he  not  manifest  advancement  in  that  direction  ? 
He  is  a  trained  laborer,  and  labor  is  the  basis 
of  prosperities." 

"He  has  been  a  laborer  by  compulsion," 
answered  the  Colonel,  "and  emancipation  would 
be. but  another  name  for  basking  sloth." 

"Such,  monsieur,  might  be  the  immediate 
result.  Liberty's  first  draught  is  intoxicating. 
But  would  not  the  ultimate  effect  be  to  stimu 
late  and  improve  him?  At  the  close  of  the 
last  century  the  Scottish  peasantry  were  as 
averse  to  settled  industry  as  we  can  conceive 
any  people  to  be.  They  were  thieves  and 


1791— .4  Tale  of  San  Domingo.          87 

vagabonds,  living  without  law  and  begging  from 
door  to  door.  What  is  Scotland  to-day,  mon 
sieur?  The  land  of  thrift  and  steady  habits." 
"  The  curse  of  the  Scotch,"  responded  the 
Colonel,  "  was  insecurity  of  law.  With  a 
change  of  administration,  betterment  came. 
These  Scotch,  too,  were  another  sort  of  people 
to  the  negro,  with  his  immature,  semi-civilized 
brain.  A  rising  generation,  Monsieur  Tardiife, 
must  be  frugal,  industrious,  temperate,  and 
ambitious.  I  see  no  hopes  of  these  becoming 
marks  of  negro  character.  Emancipation  would 
mean  emancipation  from  work.  His  indolence 
would  find  an  ally  in  the  bounty  of  the  soil, 
and  the  negro  would  be  an  inveterate  drone  in 
an  island  where  one  month's  steady  labor  would 
buy  an  acre,  and  one  day*s  work  in  the  week 
on  that  acre,  yield  food  enough  to  maintain  a 
family  for  a  year.  Left  to  himself  and  as  he 
now  is,  he  would  sink  below  his  present  level. 
This  splendid  civilization  would  crumble  at  his 
touch.  San  Domingo,  sir,  which  is  meant  to 
be  a  paradise,  would  become  a  pig-sty,  and 
wild  hogs  root  over  these  teeming  fields." 


88          1791— .4  Tale  of  San  Domingo. 

"  You  say,  monsieur,  '  as  he  now  is,' " 
remarked  M.  Tardiffe,  catching  at  the  Colonel's 
expression.  "  There  are  circumstances,  then, 
under  which  you  conceive  it  possible  for  free 
blacks  to  improve." 

The  Colonel  nodded  assent. 

"Well,  monsieur,  I  shall  be  delighted  to 
hear  them,  and  have  you  furnish  at  least  one 
ray  of  light  to  this  dark  theme." 

"The  circumstances,  I  think,"  was  the  Colo 
nel's  reply,  "would  be  their  emancipation 
among  ah  advanced  white  population,  with  the 
two  races  nearing  each  other  in  numbers.  The 
whites  would  make  and  administer  the  laws 
and  guide  public  opinion,  and  their  energy  and 
culture  would  be  lifting  to  the  vain  and  imi 
tative  black.  He  would  have  the  spur  and 
steerage  he  needs,  the  moral  control  exerted  by  a 
superior  race ;  and,  tutored  thus  for  some  gener 
ations,  would  probably  be  able  to  stand  alone." 

"  Very  good,  very  good,"  exclaimed  M.  Tar- 
diife,  in  whom  the  discussion  had  developed  a 
personal  interest  in  his  side,  "  and  what  next 
for  Monsieur  le  Noir  9  " 


1791—^4  Tale  of  San  Domingo.          89 

"At  a  certain  point,"  replied  the  Colonel, 
"the  races  should  be  separated.  They  have 
differing  degrees  of  wit,  and  deep-seated  social 
repulsions,  and  could  not  harmoniously  unfold 
themselves  within  the  same  sphere.  The  negro 
has  a  meagre  nature.  He  is  but  a  grown  child, 
an  immature  man,  and  the  limit  of  his  devel 
opment  is  mediocrity  or  a  semi-civilized  state. 
Trained  in  the  methods  of  civilization  and  set 
off  by  himself,  he  might  thrive  in  his  way  and 
to  his  degree." 

"  Ah!  monsieur,  your  word  *  might1  obscures 
even  this  hope  for  the  poor  blacks." 

"  The  theme  is  a  dark  one,  take  it  as  you 
will.  A  black  state,  even  under  these  circum 
stances,  would  be  beset  with  perils,  and  would 
need  at  the  outset  the  helping  hand  of  the 
whites ;  for  nations,  Monsieur  Tardiffe,  ripen 
slowly,  and  the  sudden  formation  of  a  political 
body  is  a  most  difficult  feat." 

"  You  think  the  races  should  be  separated," 
said  M.  Tardiffe,  in  a  musing  sort  of  way. 

"  I  do,  monsieur." 


90          1791—^  Tale  of  San  Domingo. 

"  Their  remaining  together  you  think  would 
be  an  evil." 

"An  unmixed  and  disastrous  evil,"  replied 
the  Colonel.  "  Beyond  a  certain  height  the 
whites  would  resent  the  black  man's  rise,  as  a 
menace  to  their  own  dominion.  They  would 
keep  him  an  underling.  In  all  quarters  the 
blacks  would  be  checked  by  the  aroused  antag 
onism  and  competition  of  the  better  trained 
race.  Their  growing  self-assertion  would  be 
doomed  to  unceasing  mortification.  Every 
higher  step  of  progress,  every  deepening  of 
aspiration,  would  carry  with  it  increased 
humiliation.  The  vantage-ground  of  the  blacks 
would  be  their  phenomenal  fecundity ;  and  the 
task  of  the  whites  would  be  to  hold  down  a 
swelling,  struggling,  scowling  race,  gaining 
upon  them  in  numbers,  and  enraged  at  being 
repressed.  From  this  .point,  sir,  I  can  see 
naught  but  troubles,  mounting  in  magnitude, 
and  ending  with  a  life- and- death  race  struggle." 

"But,  monsieur,"  interrupted  M.  Tardiffe, 
"might  not  the  tension  be'  relieved  by  the 
gradual  concentration  of  the  races  in  different 


1791 — A  Tale  of  San  Domingo.          91 

sections,  and  the  local  supremacy  of  each  on  its 
own- ground?" 

"  My  answer,  Monsieur  Tardiffe,  is,  that  the 
blacks  are  naturally  unqualified  for  reaching 
the  level  to  become  meet  helpers  in  sustaining 
an  advanced  civilization.  Fitted  for  low  flight, 
they  would  lose  their  wings  in  the  attempt  to 
soar  near  the  sun.  They  would  sink  below 
the  natural  limit  of  their  development,  and, 
becoming  moribund,  would  drag  down  those 
with  whom  they  are  allied.  Race  conflicts 
would  multiply — politics  would  grow  utterly 
vile — and  the  poison  from  a  decaying  member 
spread  universal  decline." 

Warned  by  the  stroke  of  the  six  o'clock 
plantation  bell,  the  Colonel  brought  the  discus 
sion  to  a  close : 

"  But,  monsieur,  I  must  allow  time  for  your 
toilet.  A  word  more :  You  are  not  to  think 
I  am  in  any  sense  a  foe  to  the  blacks.  My  life 
as  a  master  is  a  pledge  the  other*  way.  I  know 
some  noble  negroes.  My  opinion  of  the  race, 
as  drawn  from  long  observation  and  study,  has 
been  given.  I  hold  that  the  three  great  divi- 


92          1791— ^4  Tale  of  San  Domingo. 

sions  of  the  human  family — black,  yellow, 
white — should  develop  within  themselves  towards 
their  respective  bounds,  these  being  a  half- 
civilized,  civilized,  and  enlightened  state." 

With  these  words  Colonel  Tourner  rang  up 
the  valet  and  placed  M.  Tardiffe  in  his  charge. 
The  latter  was  soon  busy  at  his  toilet,  which 
he  elaborated  with  true  French  art  and  under 
the  stimulus  of  meeting  fimilie  Tourner ;  and 
if  thoughts  in  regard  to  her  predominated,  he 
yet  retained  a  vigorous  impression  of  the  con 
versation  in  which  he  had  just  participated, 
and  the  reflection  would  come  up  that  Colonel 
Tourner  was  a  needle-witted  opponent,  and 
bristled  all  over  with  "  negro  "  points. 


CHAPTER  V. 
THE  "CROP  OVER." 


was  an  hour  later  when  M.  Tar- 
diffe  entered  the  drawing-room.  His 
dress  was  strictly  fashionable,  and 
in  the  style,  as  far  as  tropical  climate  allowed, 
developed  with  the  advance  of  the  French 
Revolution :  the  coat  long,  and  buttoning  at 
the  waist,  whence  it  sloped  off  upwards  and 
downwards,  with  a  collar  spreading  upon  the 
shoulders ;  the  waistcoat  open  at  the  throat ; 
breeches  rather  close-fitting  and  extending  to 
the  middle  of  the  calf,  where  they  were  met  by 
half-top  boots ;  the  cravat  was  tied  loosely  in 
bows,  and  the  hair  was  worn  long  and  gathered 
in  a  queue. 

Emilie  Tourner  appeared  in  a  style  of  simple 
elegance.     The  light  muslin  dress  was  short- 

93 


94          1791—^  Tale  of  San  Domingo. 

waisted,  and  fell  in  straight,  loose  folds  to  her 
feet.  The  sleeves,  tight  on  the  upper  arm,  ex 
panded  from  the  elbow,  and  terminated  in  a 
fringe  of  rich  lace.  About  the  throat  a  white 
handkerchief,  with  a  flavor  of  lavender-water, 
was  adjusted  in  such  a  manner  as  to  represent, 
according  to  the  fashion  of  the  times,  the  breast 
of  a  pigeon ;  her  coiffure  was  made  en  boucles, 
after  the  prevailing  mode,  the  front  hair  form 
ing  a  light  mass  of  short  curls  with  the  back 
hair  flowing,  and  she  displayed  a  few  pieces  of 
rare  bijouterie,  a  style  of  adornment  for  which 
creole  young  ladies  generally  show  a  passion. 
The  only  addition  to  the  company  was  the 
manager  in  white  dittoes,  M.  Fauchet,  the 
usual  guest  of  the  proprietor  on  these  occa 
sions. 

Tea  was  taken  rather  quietly.  The  Colonel 
had  been  so  free  in  speech  during  the  afternoon 
that  rest  was  natural.  Emilie  Tourner  was 
noticeably  abstracted,  and  wore  a  pensive  look. 
The  conversation  was  chiefly  confined  to  M. 
Tardiffe  and  Madame  Tourner,  the  latter  being 
in  high  spirits,  and  entertaining  her  guest  in 


1791—^4  Tale  of  San  Domingo.          95 

the  gracious  and  charming  manner  of  which 
she  was  the  mistress. 

After  tea  she  invited  the  company  to  an 
inspection  of  the  festive  tables.  M.  Tardiffe 
escorted  Emilie  Tourner,  the  latter  protected 
against  the  dangerous  dew  by  a  hat  trimmed 
with  bows  of  ribbon  and  of  great  expanse  of 
border,and  the  former  by  a  peculiar  palm 
chapeau,  which,  among  San  Domingo  fashion 
ables,  replaced  the  flat,  round  brim,  and  tall, 
conical  crown  of  the  Parisian  beaver. 

The  scene  illustrated  the  proverbial  loveliness 
of  moonlight  evenings  in  the  West  Indies. 
The  clouds  had  all  fled.  The  atmosphere,  puri 
fied  by  the  recent  rain,  was  perfectly  clear,  and 
sweet  with  the  odor  of  roses  and  lemon-flowers. 
The  stars  shone  brilliantly.  Myriads  of  fire 
flies  sparkled  in  the  trees,  and  the  mild  radiance 
of  the  rising  gibbous  moon  was  paling  the  light 
of  the  many-colored  lanterns  that  at  every  turn 
illuminated  the  grounds. 

Cooking  in  the  West  Indies  is  done  in  small 
charcoal  furnaces  and  out-of-door  brick  ovens, 
and  for  the  two  preceding  days  Madame  Tourner 


96          1791— .4  Tale  of  San  Domingo. 

had  been  taxing  her  resources  in  this  direction. 
The  result  was  the  rich  and  bountiful  feast 
spread  beneath  a  branching  mango.  Fowls, 
hams,  Gruinea-birds,  turkeys,  flying-fish,  butter- 
fish,  pastry,  tarts,  guava  jelly,  preserved  ginger, 
custard  apples,  pineapples,  melons,  etc.,  with 
jorums  of  lemonade  and  tamarind  water,  made 
a  feast  fit  for  a  king. 

Two  dishes  prepared  especially  for  the  negro 
taste  were  opossum  and  agouti,  the  latter  larger 
than  a  rat  and  less  than  a  rabbit,  somewhat 
resembling  both,  and  eaten  by  West  India 
negroes  with  the  gout  of  an  alderman  for  turtle. 
A  small  table  of  honor  was  arranged  apart  for 
the  "  drivers  "  or  field  overseers.  These  com 
monly  were  old  negroes  of  tried  fidelity,  who, 
under  the  white  manager,  superintended  field- 
work.  The  single  addition  of  turtle,  served 
with  rum  punch,  varied  its  viands  from  the 
general  cheer. 

The  tables  were  in  charge  of  a  number  of 
trusted  servants,  to  whom  Madame  Tourner  now 
gave  some  parting  directions,  when  the  company 
proceeded  to  the  lawn  in  front  of  the  mansion, 


1791 — A  Tale  of  San  Domingo.          97 

where,  as  the  boisterous  mirth  indicated,  a  large 
assemblage  of  jovial  "  darkies  "  were  having  a 
"  high  "  time. 

The  negro  disposition  is  eminently  social  and 
convivial,  and  the  beautiful  moonlight  evenings 
in  the  tropics  are  their  delight.  They  are  great 
chatterers,  and  will  keep  late  hours  spinning 
yarns  and  telling  "  Nancy  "  stories,  or  tales  of 
ghosts  and  goblins,  which  West  India  negroes 
call  "jumbees."  The  slaves,  too,  often  gave 
"parties"  or  balls,  to  which  not  uncommonly, 
it  must  in  truth  be  added,  the  larders  and 
wardrobes  of  their  masters  and  mistresses  were 
made  to  furnish  liberal  contributions.  Dancing 
is  a  passion,  and  on  these  occasions  they  fre 
quently  "  do  "  with  skill  and  grace  the  prevailing 
styles,  which  their  imitative  powers  have  caught 
from  their  owners.  During  the  soiree  at  the 
mansion  one  might  often  see  the  slaves  on  the 
green  beneath  the  open  windows,  executing, 
with  extra  agility  and  chuckling  delight,  the 
various  "sets"  at  the  call  of  the  musician. 

Near  the  centre  of  the  lawn,  in  front  of  the 
mansion,  the  carpets  had  been  spread  for 
7 


98          1791— A  Tale  of  San  Domingo. 

dancing.  The  musicians — a  fiddler,  a  tambou 
rine-player,  and  a  man  beating  what  is  called 
a  triangle — were  seated  on  an  elevated  plat 
form,  where  they  did  duty  with  a  gravity 
befitting  their  office.  Beneath  them  was  a 
crowd  of  lively  blacks,  looking  as  pleased  as 
Punch,  and  all  in  holiday  rig.  The  slaves 
were  excessively  vain  of  their  personal  appear 
ance,  and,  if  necessary,  would  go  in  rags  during 
the  week  to  have  something  to  wear  on  a,  fete 
day  or  at  a  "  party."  The  men  on  this  occasion 
wore  woollen  caps,  the  dews  being  heavy  and 
dangerous.  The  women  were  tricked  out  in 
different  styles  of  flashing  kerchiefs  twisted 
into  high  turbans,  gaudy  gowns,  many-colored 
sashes,  and  a  profusion  of  cheap  ornaments. 

In  the  midst  were  the  dancers  "  doing,"  in 
their  turn,  Scotch  reels  and  quadrilles  with 
intense  gout  and  joyousness.  Encircling  these 
was  a  throng  of  blacks  constantly  moving  in 
and  out  among  themselves  and  giving  vent  to 
a  thousand  gay  sallies,  cracking  their  ready 
jokes  upon  the  manners  and  customs  of  the 
"buckras,"  and  breaking  now  and  then  into 


1791— ^4  Tale  of  San  Domingo.          99 

loud  and  glad  laughter  at  some  of  their  witti 
cisms,  the  point  of  which  it  was  often  difficult 
to  see.  The  jabber  was  "  immense."  On  the 
outside  crowds  of  little  blacks  as  plump  as 
puddings  were  gambolling  and  cutting  capers 
over  the  green. 

They  were  a  lively  set — free  and  easy,  for 
the  occasion  was  privileged,  yet  perfectly  well- 
ordered — bubbling  over  with  the  merriment 
born  of  a  jovial  temperament  and  superb  phy 
sique  ;  and  their  healthy,  contented,  happy 
countenances  reflected  the  care  of  a  benevolent 
master. 

At  the  instance  of  her  maid,  who  was  a 
reigning  belle,  and  now  craved  the  aid  of  her 
young  mistress  in  completing  her  personal 
adornment,  fimilie  Tourner  returned  for  a  few 
moments  to  the  mansion.  The  Colonel,  in 
expectation  of  a  sojourn  at  the  Cape,  was  con 
ferring  with  Manager  Fauchet  in  regard  to 
plantation  affairs;  and  M.  Tardiffe  saw  the 
coveted  opportunity  for  a  word  in  private  with 
Madame  Tourner. 

He  had  keep  himself  thoroughly  informed 


100        1791—^4  Tale  of  San  Domingo. 

as  to  the  circumstances  both  of  the  elder  and 
the  younger  Pascal,  and  was  cognizant  of  their 
unsatisfactory  condition.  This,  indeed,  was  a 
common  remark  among  the  Pascals'  acquain 
tances.  For  Henry  Pascal  he  professed  friend 
ship,  was  not  unfrequently  in  his  company, 
knew  of  the  Harrison  offer,  and  had  discovered 
by  adroit  and  apparently  casual  inquiries  that 
acceptance  was  not  improbable.  He  often 
dropped  in  at  the  Hotel  de  Ville,  it  being  a 
news  centre  and  resort  for  men  of  wealth  and 
leisure,  and  was  aware  of  the  elder  Pascal's 
arrival  and  taking  apartments  an  hour  after 
the  event.  Putting  all  this  and  the  on  dits  of 
the  Cape  together,  his  shrewd  and  interested 
intelligence  had  drawn  conclusions  and  con 
cocted  insinuations  which  he  was  most  desirous 
to  communicate  to  Madame  Tourner.  He 
therefore  at  once  joined  her  and  proposed  a 
turn  in  the  grounds. 

"  Verily,  I  must  congratulate  you,"  he  said. 
"  The  banquet  your  kindness  has  prepared  for 
these  blacks  is  really  sumptuous." 


1791— ^4  Tale  of  San  Domingo.        101 

"The  Colonel,  monsieur,  allows  me  a  carte 
blanche  on  these  occasions." 

"I  trust,  too,  madame,  your  efforts  will  be 
justly  appreciated,  and  that  the  black  taste  may 
not  discard  your  delicacies  for  'possum  fat  and 
agouti." 

The  expression,  though  highly  ill-bred,  was 
a  natural  one  under  the  circumstances,  and  had 
a  logical  connection  in  M.  Tardiffe's  mind. 
His  aim  was  to  lodge  among  Madame  Tour- 
ner's  thoughts  an  objection  against  matching  a 
daughter  reared  in  luxury  with  a  man  the 
worldly  fortunes  of  whom  were  in  so  critical 
a  condition  as  those  of  Henry  Pascal.  The 
general  idea  uppermost  was  the  unwisdom  of 
joining  things  ill-suited  for  each  other,  and, 
without  reflecting  on  the  impropriety,  he  seized 
upon  the  illustration  before  him,  in  the  spread 
ing  of  such  delicacies  before  the  gross  appetites 
of  negroes,  and  not  rather  allowing  their  plate 
and  palate  to  accord. 

He  had  no  sooner  spoken,  however,  than  he 
perceived  the  faux  pas  as  being  an  uncalled-for 
fling  at  the  slave,  as  well  as  a  stricture  upon 


102        1791— ^4  Tale  of  San  Domingo. 

Madame  Tourner's  judgment,  and  was  not 
surprised,  therefore,  at  the  evident  displeasure 
conveyed  both  in  the  substance  and  the  manner 
of  her  answer. 

"  They  are  negroes  and  slaves,  I  know,  mon 
sieur,  but  they  have  human  hearts,  and  will 
be  grateful  for  at  least  having  offered  to  them 
what  is  rare  and  costly." 

"Pardon  me,  dear  madame;  but  I  was 
reflecting — pardon  my  saying  so — that  the 
times  are  not  the  most  propitious  for  revealing 
to  slaves  the  difference  between  cabin  fare  and 
the  luxury  of  the  mansion." 

It  was  a  clumsy  effort  to  extricate  himself,  and 
Madame  Tourner  rejoined  with  an  arch  smile : 

"  What  danger  can  follow,  monsieur,  when 
the  slave,  as  you  are  aware,  disdains  the  higher 
style  of  living  ?  " 

"  I  own  the  thrust,"  he  replied  laughingly. 
"  But  pray,  madame,  tell  me  why  mademoiselle 
appears  like  one  bereaved.  'Tis  her  wont  to 
charm  us  all  with  her  grace  and  high  spirits." 

"  I  cannot  tell,  and  it  troubles  me  not  a  little. 
Monsieur  Pascal  made  a  hurried  visit  this 


1791— A  Tale  of  San  Domingo.        103 

forenoon,  but  I  was  so  busy  at  the  ovens — you 
see,  monsieur,"  she  parenthetically  remarked 
in  her  winsome  way,  "  I  have  quite  a  range 
of  aptitudes — that  he  left  before  I  could 
speak  with  him.  Since  then  Emilie  has  been 
depressed." 

"  Ah!  Ah!  I  perceive — an  affaire  du  cceur — 
a  case  of  melancholy — la  maladie  sans  maladie." 

"  I  haven't  had  an  opportunity,"  Madame 
Tourner  continued,  "  of  speaking  with  her  fully ; 
and  she  seems  to  be  reticent.  I  trust  Monsieur 
Pascal  brought  no  alarming  news  from  the 
Cape." 

"  I  have  heard  of  none,"  M.  Tardiffe  replied, 
"  except  what  relates  to  the  Pascals  them 
selves." 

"  The  Pascals !  "  cried  Madame  Tourner 
excitedly,  stopping  in  her  walk,  and  turning 
in  astonishment  upon  the  speaker.  "What 
can  have  happened  to  the  Pascals  ?  " 

"  Ah!  madame,  la  langue  triafourche"  insidi 
ously  answered  M.  Tardiffe.  "  It  repents  me 
to  have  awakened  your  curiosity,  since  'tis  mere 
street  gossip,  and  may  be  unjust  to  our  friends." 


104        1791— A  Tale  of  San  Domingo. 

"It  is  no  curiosity,  but  matter  of  deep  per 
sonal  interest,  monsieur ;  let  me  know  what 
this  gossip  is." 

"  After  all,  madame,  it  scarcely  comes  within 
the  category  of  '  alarming,'  "  remarked  M.  Tar- 
diffe  who  had  reached  the  point  for  disclosing 
his  beguiling  news,  but  held  it  back  with  a  kind 
of  orator's  pause,  that  he  might  give  it  with 
increased  emphasis. 

"  Explain  yourself,  Monsieur  Tardiffe,"  spoke 
up  his  companion  with  symptoms  of  impatience. 
"  What  concerns  the  Pascals  concerns  us." 

"Well,  Dame  Rumor  has  it,  if  it  must  be 
spoken,  that  Monsieur  Pascal  is  unable  to  meet 
his  obligations  and  may  lose  his  estates." 

"Mon  Dieu!  Can  it  be  true?"  cried  out 
Madame  Tourner.  "  But,  monsieur,"  she  added 
with  a  sudden  lowering  of  tone,  "the  rumor 
may  be  an  error,  or  at  least  overdrawn." 

"It  has  probably  originated,"  replied  her 
guest,  "in  another  rumor  that  Monsieur  Henry 
is  about  to  become  a  clerk  in  a  Kingston 
counting-room." 


1791—^4  Tale  of  San  Domingo.        105 

"He  has  had  such  an  offer,  I  know," 
remarked  Madame  Tourner  with  a  serious  air, 
and  apparently  regaining  composure. 

"It  is  surmised,"  continued  M.  Tardiffe, 
"that  he  would  not  accept  so  poor  a  position, 
and  one  so  remote,  if  his  father  had  cash  to 
spare." 

He  glanced  at  his  companion,  but  she  said 
nothing  and  he  went  on : 

"Monsieur  Pascal  has  left  Sans  Souci,  and 
taken  apartments  at  the  Hotel  de  Ville." 

"  Indeed !  "  spoke  up  Madame  Tourner. 

"And  the  on  dit  is  that,  under  all  the  cir 
cumstances  of  the  family,  he  will  probably 
emigrate  with  his  son." 

"  The  Pascals  to  leave  San  Domingo  and  we 
know  nothing  of  it !  Monsieur,  it  is  impossi 
ble!"  exclaimed  Madame  Tourner,  again  arrest 
ing  her  steps  and  facing  her  companion.  "  And 
yet,"  she  continued  after  a  moment's  considera 
tion,  and  as  if  communing  with  herself,  "it 
would  explain  this  abrupt  visit  and  Elmilie's 
dejection." 

"I'm  very  sorry  for  the  Pascals,"  remarked 


106        1791—^4  Tale  of  San  Domingo. 

M.  Tardiffe  in  his  bland,  oily  way.  "But, 
after  all,  madame,  virtue  is  the  only  nobility." 

"  True,  monsieur,  true ;  yet  for  those  who 
have  known  affluence  to  shrink  themselves  into 
the  fittings  of  poverty  is  a  difficult  and  a  painful 
task." 

"  Ah  !  madame,  Jamaica  is  a  prospering  isle, 
and  Monsieur  Henry  is  young  and  capable. 
He  will  speedily  win  fortune  for  mademoiselle." 

"My  daughter,  Monsieur  Tardiffe,  has  no 
occasion  to  be  solicitous  for  fortune,"  answered 
Madame  Tourner  with  dignity. 

"  Pardon  me,  dear  madame,  mademoiselle  is 
richly  and  doubly  endowed,  I  know,  in  person 
as  in  purse." 

For  a  moment  or  two  Madame  Tourner 
remained  silent  and  in  thought,  when  with  a 
sudden  and  remarkable  change  of  manner, 
abruptly  answering  her  own  reflections,  and 
breaking  away  as  if  from  a  spell,  she  gaily 
cried : 

"  You  shall  not  cloud  our  '  Crop  Over/  Mon 
sieur  Tardiffe.  That  such  reverses  and  pro 
posed  changes  should  exist,  and  we  have  heard 


1791—  A  Tale  of  San  Domingo.        107 

not  a  word  concerning  them  is  perfectly  incredi 
ble,  monsieur,  and  I  will  give  no  credence  to 
these  idle  Cape  on  dits.  Come,  we  will  rejoin 
our  friends ;  they  are  awaiting  us." 

Notwithstanding  her  assertion  of  incredulity, 
as  the  party  became  one  again  M.  Tardiffe 
was  not  unobservant  of  the  significant  glances 
Madame  Tourner  gave  her  daughter,  and  felt 
satisfied  he  had  lodged  in  the  mind  of  the 
former  some  judicious  trains  of  thought. 

West  India  dews,  as  has  been  already 
remarked,  are  heavy  and  dangerous,  and  upon 
the  coming  up  of  Madame  Tourner  with  her 
guest  the  party  repaired  to  the  piazza. 

In  the  meanwhile  the  negroes  had  been  doing 
fine  service  at  the  tables,  and  were  now,  in 
jovial  bands,  returning  to  the  dance.  At  a 
signal  the  sounds  suddenly  ceased,  and  all 
became  expectant,  as  four  young  dusky  fellows 
took  a  position  on  the  green,  midway  between 
the  piazza  and  the  carpets,  and  sang  in  their 
patois,  to  a  plaintive  air  and  with  really  fine 
effect : 


108        1791—^4  Tale  of  San  Domingo. 

"  Me  be  a  nigger-boy,  born  in  de  hovel,* 

What  plantain  da  shade  from  de  sun  wha  da  shine ; 
Me  learn  to  dig  wid  de  spade  and  de  shovel, 

Me  learn  to  hoe  up  de  cane  in  a  line. 
Me  drink  my  rum  in  de  calabash  oval, 

Me  neber  sigh  for  de  brandy  or  wine ; 
Me  be  a  nigger-boy,  born  in  de  hovel, 

What  plantain  da  shade  from  de  sun  wha  da  shine. 
Me  be  a  nigger-boy, 
Me  be  a  nigger-boy : 
When  me  live  happy,  wha  for  me  repine  ? 

"  Me  neber  run  from  my  master's  plantation. 

Wha  for  me  run  ?     Me  no  want  for  get  lick. 
He  gib  me  house,  and  me  no  pay  taxation ; 

Food  when  me  famish,  and  nurse  when  me  sick. 
'Mancipate-nigger,  he  belly  da  empty ; 

He  hab  de  freedom ;  dat  no  good  for  me ; 
My  massa  good  man ;  he  gib  me  plenty, 
Me  no  lub  free-nigger  better  dan  he. 
•*  Me  be  a  nigger-boy, 

Me  be  a  nigger-boy, 
Me  happy  fellow;  den  why  me  want  free?" 

It  was  a  delightful  incident,  expressive  of  the 
simple  truth,  and  to  Colonel  Tourner,  cognizant 
of  the  brewing  plot,  especially  pleasing.  The 
French  planters,  generally,  were  capricious 
masters,  by  turns  excessively  indulgent  and 
severe.  The  power  to  control  was  in  conse 
quence  diminished,  while  their  sensual,  sybarite 
habits  spread  an  evil  example  among  the  slaves, 

*  A  song  current  throughout  the  West  Indies  in  slavery  days. 


1791— ^4  Tale  of  San  Domingo.        109 

and  rendered  them  less  controllable.  Colonel 
Tourner  was  a  man  of  pure,  unsullied  character ; 
a  firm,  just,  and  generous  master;  and  the 
tender,  sympathetic  nature  of  his  wife  had 
endeared  herself  and  family  to  the  slaves  by  a 
thousand  kindly  little  acts  in  sickness  and  on 
other  occasions.  The  effect  upon  them  was  not 
only  an  exceptional  reputation  for  character 
and  efficiency,  but  a  deep  personal  attachment 
to  their  master,  to  whom  not  unfrequently  they 
would  kneel  for  a  blessing  when  he  visited  the 
cabins,  as  he  often  did,  in  looking  after  their 
welfare;  and  Colonel  Tourner  felt  justified  in 
the  opinion  he  had  that  morning  expressed  to 
Henry  Pascal,  that  should  the  negroes  rise,  he 
was  confident  his  slaves  would  defend  him. 


CHAPTER  VI. 
THE  OUTBREAK. 

ILE  Colonel  Tourner's  negroes  were 
thus  regaling  themselves  and  mak 
ing  merry,  another  body  had  assem 
bled  at  no  great  distance  off,  and  for  a  far 
different  purpose.  The  meeting  was  at  the 
cabin  of  one  Sharper,  a  sawyer  by  trade,  who, 
like  many  of  the  more  intelligent  negroes,  was 
allowed  to  hire  his  time,  he  accounting  to  his 
master  for  so  much  per  month.  He  lived  in 
an  out-of-the-way  spot  in  a  forest,  as  suitable 
to  his  trade,  at  the  declivity  of  the  high  range 
of  hills  between  Dondon  and  Grande  Riviere. 
His  cabin  of  two  rooms  was  made  of  wattling, 
plastered  on  the  inside  with  clay,  and  roofed 
with  a  thatch-work  of  palm,  the  walls  being 
adorned  with  paper  cuts  of  all  shapes  and 
110 


1791— A  Tale  of  San  Domingo.        Ill 

sizes,  many  of  bizarre  design,  and  irregularly 
arranged  after  negro  fashion.  Here  were 
met  a  score  of  insurrectionary  leaders.  They 
dropped  in  one  by  one,  and  having  assembled, 
placed  sentries,  with  watchword,  upon  every 
possible  avenue  of  approach. 

The  plot  was  widespread  and  well  organized, 
the  general  plan  being  to  murder  the  plantation 
whites  and  fire  the  buildings ;  surprise,  if  pos 
sible,  the  smaller  interior  towns,  and,  when 
pressed,  to  retire  to  the  mountains,  where  they 
could  concentrate  and  drill,  and  secure  arms, 
as  they  hoped,  from  their  Spanish  neighbors. 
For  a  commissariat  they  looked  to  the  labor  of 
their  women  and  the  natural  bounty  of  the 
soil. 

The  special  objects  now  were  to  decide  upon 
the  date  and  the  scope  of  the  impending  mas 
sacre.  To  lessen  the  chances  of  discovery  it 
was  important  that  the  date  should  be  as  early 
as  possible,  allowing  time  for  the  runners  to 
speed  the  word.  The  second  day  from  the 
meeting  was  accordingly  agreed  upon,  August 
22 — the  hour,  midnight. 


112        1791— A  Tale  of  San  Domingo. 

As  for  the  other  question — who  should  be 
the  victims? — some  favored  sparing  women 
and  children.  A  majority,  however,  at  the 
outset,  pressed  for  indiscriminate  massacre,  and 
the  sentiment  became  unanimous  after  an  ha 
rangue  from  a  notorious  runaway.  This  fellow 
bore  the  name  of  Welcome ;  and  one  Latour 
was  the  monster  master  from  whose  cruelties 
he  had  fled  and  who  had  lost,  it  was  alleged, 
within  three  years,  fifty  of  his  negroes  from 
inhumanity.  Welcome  harangued  as  follows: 

"  Some  of  you  sabe  'bout  me.  I  tell  you  all. 
My  massa,  he  da  sen'  me  out  to  hunt  he  run 
aways.  I  hunt  day  an'  night,  an'  me  no  fin' 
'em.  I  go  home,  an',  my  massa,  he  da  lick-  me 
an  hour  wid  a  cart  lash.  De  lash,  it  da  go  roun' 
my  body,  an'  break  de  skin  eb'ry  time.  Den, 
my  massa,  he  sen'  me  out  ag'in.  I  hunt  up  an' 
down,  an'  me  no  fin'  'em.  I  go  home,  an',  my 
massa,  he  da  lick  me  ag'in  till  I  faint.  I  be 
laid  up  one  whole  week  in  de  sick-house.  Den, 
my  massa,  he  sen'  me  out  ag'in,  an'  now  I  be 
runaway,  too. 

"  I  git  plenty  to  eat  an'  hab  good  time.     But 


1791— ^4  Tale  of  San  Domingo.        113 

I  want  fur  to  see  my  mammy,  Elsee.  My 
mammy,  she  be  good  to  me.  She  be  de  only 
one  dat  lub  me.  One  night  I  stole  in  to  my 
mammy's  cabin ;  but  she  be  dead.  My  massa, 
he  say  to  her,  <  You  sabe  where  Welcome  be ' ; 
an7  he  da  lick  her,  an'  he  da  pour  bilin'  water 
down  her  throat.  An'  my  mammy,  she  be  dead, 
an'  I  be  fur  blood.  Ef  we  doan  lick  de  buckras, 
you  all  sabe  it'll  be  de  same  to  de  nigger,  ef  he 
hit  sof  or  ef  he  hit  hard.  De  buckras  will 
lick  us  an'  torment  us  an'  string  us  up  all  de 
same.  I  be  fur  to  hit  hard.  Ef  we  doan  git  to 
be  free,  we'll  hab  blood  for  blood." 

The  22d  of  August  began  with  sunshine,  but 
closed  in  furious  storms.  Until  noon  the  day 
was  clear  and  still  and  the  sun  shone  with  un 
usual  splendor.  An  hour  later  a  freshening 
breeze  blew  from  the  south-west.  Presently, 
in  that  direction,  the  sky  became  overcast. 
The  cloud  rose  with  a  whitish,  clearly-defined 
border,  and  deepened  in  color  until  near  the 
horizon  it  assumed  a  uniform  purplish  black, 
through  which  lightning  flashed,  and  above 
whose  line  a  mass  of  broken  cloud,  angrily 
8 


114        1791— .4  Tale  of  San  Domingo. 

moving  within  itself,  rolled  rapidly  forward. 
As  it  neared  the  zenith  its  velocity  apparently 
increased.  A  few  spiteful  gusts  disturbed  the 
perfect  stillness,  when,  with  abrupt  and  furious 
onset,  the  storm  burst.  Clouds  of  driven  dust 
filled  the  air.  The  wind  roared  through  the 
trees,  which  bent  and  groaned  and  lashed  their 
strong  arms  in  the  struggle  of  resistance. 
Suddenly  the  darkness  deepened,  and  the  flying 
leaves  and  branches  could  scarce  be  seen.  The 
sequence,  however,  was  but  a  heavy  rainfall. 
The  fury  of  the  storm  had  passed ;  yet  at  inter 
vals  other  storms  followed,  with  lightnings  and 
mighty  thunderings,  making  such  a  night  as  is 
seldom  seen  beyond  the  tropics.  Wind  and  rain 
ceased  towards  midnight,  though  the  heavens 
remained  shrouded.  It  was  an  evening  typical 
of  the  frightful  passions  swelling  in  the  breasts 
of  thousands  of  the  blacks,  and  about  to  burst 
forth  in  scenes  of  uproar,  butchery,  and  beastly 
outrage  without  a  parallel. 

Shortly  after  midnight  confused  and  dreadful 
rumors  of  a  negro  rising  began  to  prevail 
at  the  Cape.  The  first  intimation  were  the 


1791— ^4  Tale  of  San  Domingo.        115 

conflagrations  that  suddenly  started  up  over 
the  Plaine  du  Nord,  as  observed  from  the  Vigie, 
or  signal  port,  on  the  summit  of  the  Morne  du 
Cap,  the  lofty  eminence  on  the  southwestern 
outskirts  of  the  city. 

It  had  been  the  day  appointed  for  the  Tour- 
ners'  coming.  Till  a  late  hour  Henry  Pascal 
had  remained  at  the  Hotel  de  Ville,  surmising 
that  if  a  start  had  been  made  before  the  storm 
they  might  possibly  arrive  after  its  subsidence. 
Its  continued  violence,  however,  dispelled  this 
view.  His  father  having  retired,  he  went  down 
to  the  office,  and  as  the  storm  gave  tokens  of 
passing  off,  concluded,  before  venturing  out,  to 
await  further  abatement.  The  hour  was  late ; 
besides  the  drowsy  clerk  no  one  else  was  in, 
and,  seating  himself,  he  became  buried  in  his 
own  reflections.  The  non-arrival  of  the  Tour- 
ners  strangely  oppressed  him,  and  his  fancy- 
ings  took  every  possible  drift.  Madame  Tour- 
ner  may  have  interposed  objections,  he  thought, 
or  the  preparations  may  not  have  been  com 
pleted  ;  if  the  start  had  been  made  before  the 
storm,  where  had  they  found  shelter?  Sup- 


116        1791— .4  Tale  of  San  Domingo. 

pose  the  delay  should  prove  fatal ;  what  if  the 
negroes  should  rise  to-night  ?  It  would  be,  he 
thought,  a  fit  night  for  such  work ;  and  the  idea 
took  possession  of  him,  and  drew  around  him 
a  spell,  and  the  elements  grew  weird  and  evil- 
looking,  until  the  flashings  and  distant  thunder- 
rolls  from  the  receding  storm  seemed  in  his 
brooding  imagination  the  gleam  of  knives  and 
the  groans  of  the  dying. 

The  rain  had  ceased,  and  rousing  himself 
out  of  such  reveries,  Henry  Pascal  sought  his 
lodgings  in  la  rue  St.  Simon.  He  had  slept 
perhaps  a  couple  of  hours  when  a  gun  from  the 
arsenal  awoke  him.  A  second  brought  him  to 
his  feet  in  a  tumult  of  apprehension,  and,  rush 
ing  to  the  window,  he  learned  from  a  citizen 
hurrying  by  that  the  negroes  on  the  Plain  were 
murdering  the  whites  and  firing  the  plantations. 
To  throw  on  his  clothes  and  rush  out  was  the 
work  of  an  instant.  Fugitives  from  the  im 
mediate  estates,  affrighted  by  the  conflagrations, 
had  arrived,  alarm  guns  were  booming,  and  the 
streets  already  in  commotion. 

Henry  Pascal's  first  care  was  to  rouse  his 


1791— .4  Tale  of  San  Domingo.        117 

father,  for  he  knew  the  Cape  itself  was  in  dan 
ger.  Hastening  along  la  rue  St.  Simon  and 
passing  into  la  rue  St.  Louis,  he  reached  the 
Hotel  de  Ville  to  find  his  father  up  and  expect 
ing  him.  They  were  aghast  at  the  dreadful 
fate  that  most  probably  had  overtaken  the 
Tourners.  A  faint  hope  remained  that  the 
Colonel's  slaves  had  proven  faithful,  and  that 
he  had  escaped  with  his  family  to  some  neigh 
boring  town  or  settlement,  as  Dondon  or  Petite 
Ance,  whence  the  fugitives  might  make  for  the 
Cape  in  sufficient  numbers  for  defence  before 
the  negroes  could  concentrate. 

Wrung  with  anguish,  Henry  Pascal  hurried 
forth  again  to  get  tidings  from  the  plain.  By 
this  time  the  city  had  become  thoroughly 
aroused.  Mistrustful  of  the  large  mulatto 
element  among  them,  the  whites  generally 
remained  at  home  under  arms,  in  dread  uncer 
tainty  awaiting  day-break  and  the  action  of  the 
authorities.  Many  with  friends  and  kindred 
on  the  Plain  were  upon  the  streets  in  quest  of 
news.  Some  were  making  for  the  Morne  du 
Cap,  the  summit  of  which  commanded  an 


118        1791— A  Tale  of  San  Domingo. 

extended  view.  With  others  Henry  Pascal 
sought  the  thoroughfare  by  which  fugitives 
would  enter.  Hastily  traversing,  therefore, 
la  rue  St.  Louis,  and  turning  north  into  a 
crossing  street  at  the  Place  Royale,  he  entered 
the  broad  la  rue  Espagnole,  along  which  he 
pressed  past  the  Cimetiere,  past  the  base  of  the 
Western  Morne,  till  he  reached  a  point  to  scan 
the  Plaine  du  Nord.  Towards  the  south  in 
every  quarter  the  horizon  was  aglow.  What 
scenes  were  occurring  beneath  the  light  of  those 
flames !  He  stood  spellbound,  transfixed  by  a 
horrible  fascination. 

Commencing  without  a  sign  of  warning  on  a 
plantation  owned  by  the  Count  de  Noe,  in  the 
parish  of  Acul,  where  fourteen  negroes  mur 
dered  the  overseers  and  fired  the  buildings,  the 
rising  spread  with  the  utmost  rapidity  and 
overwhelming  force.  Excepting  Cape  Frangois 
and  one  or  two  other  ports,  the  entire  northern 
province  was  overrun  and  at  the  mercy  of  fero 
cious  and  lusty  negro  bands.  Instances  were 
not  wanting  of  remarkable  devotion  to  their 
masters,  but  the  general  conduct  of  the  insur- 


1791— ^4  Tale  of  San  Domingo.        119 

gents  was  unexampled  for  brutality  and  heart 
rending  outrage.  Within  four  days  two-thirds 
of  the  magnificent  Plaine  du  Nord  lay  in  ruins, 
and  the  wretched  remnants  of  hundreds  of 
white  families,  suddenly  reduced  from  opulence 
to  beggary,  fled,  terror-stricken  and  barely 
clothed,  to  the  Cape. 

What  had  been  the  fate  of  the  Tourners  ? 

The  day  after  the  "Crop  Over"  the  Colonel 
rode  down  to  the  Cape,  and  finding  that  Henry 
Pascal  had  been  prompt  to  make  satisfactory 
arrangements,  he  decided  upon  bringing  over 
his  family  the  following  morning.  But  on  the 
eve  of  departure,  even  of  a  temporary  character, 
one  often  finds  unexpected  things  to  do,  and,  in 
the  absence  of  such  sources  of  delay,  the  Tour 
ners  did  not  prove  an  exception.  Preparations 
had  not  been  completed  when  it  became  evident 
that  a  storm  of  unusual  force  was  developing. 
The  departure  was,  in  consequence,  postponed 
till  the  next  day,  and  everything  made  ready 
against  an  early  move,  to  avail  themselves  of 
the  forenoon,  which  even  in  the  rainy  season  is 
commonly  open.  These  preparations  had  kept 


120        1791— ,4  Tale  of  San  Domingo. 

them  up  late,  and,  after  retiring,  the  outbursts 
of  the  elements  allowed  but  a  broken  rest. 
The  cooled  air  and  quietude,  however,  that 
came  with  the  close  of  the  storm  invited  repose, 
and  Colonel  Tourner  had  fallen  into  sound  sleep, 
when  a  piercing  cry  from  his  daughter  smote 
his  ear. 

Her  anxiety  of  mind,  consequent  upon  the 
general  condition  of  affairs,  had  been  greatly 
deepened  by  Henry  Pascal's  visit  and  prepara 
tions  for  flight  to  the  Cape,  and  this  evening, 
after  a  day  of  bustle  and  fatigue,  her  brooding 
spirit  had  risen  to  a  state  of  positive  agitation 
at  the  unexpected  delay  and  their  having  to 
pass  another  night  in  the  midst  of  lurking  and 
horrible  dangers.  The  terrors  of  the  storm 
lent  their  aid,  and  her  imagination  became  so 
wrought  upon  that  it  was  long  before  she  could 
catch  even  fitful  sleep.  In  one  of  her  rousings 
her  suspicious  ear  detected,  as  she  thought, 
footfalls  upon  the  lawn.  She  rose  and  looked 
out.  The  heavens  were  shrouded,  but  the  moon 
was  up  and  cast  a  dim  light.  She  could  see 
nothing,  however,  and  supposed,  as  the  negroes 


1791— A  Tale  of  San  Domingo.        121 

kept  late  hours,  it  may  have  been  some  one 
passing  through  the  grounds  after  the  storm. 
Examining  anew  the  lower  sash  of  the  windows, 
the  fastenings  of  which  she  had  taken  the 
precaution  to  secure,  she  again  sought  her 
couch,  when  presently  sounds  on  the  piazza- 
roof  startled  her.  Were  they  rain-drops  shaken 
from  the  boughs,  or  the  stealthy  movements  of 
an  intruder?  With  her  heart  in  her  mouth 
she  started  up,  and  as  she  drew  aside  a  curtain 
a  negro  burst  upon  the  sash.  She  sprang  back 
terror-stricken,  and  with  the  appalling  cry  that 
aroused  her  father.  Bounding  from  the  bed, 
he  seized  his  sabre  and  a  brace  of  heavy  double- 
barrelled  pistols,  as  his  daughter  wildly  entered, 
exclaiming  that  negroes  were  breaking  into  her 
room. 

"  Be  in  reach  of  me  with  this,  if  you  can,  and, 
if  I  fall,  use  it  upon  yourself,"  he  said  in  a 
breath,  thrusting  a  pistol  into  her  hand  (for  it 
would  be  impossible,  he  knew,  in  the  struggle 
upon  him,  to  control  the  sabre  and  more  than 
one  pistol ;  nor  could  he,  being  in  night-dress, 
secure  the  other  about  his  person),  and  rushing 


122        1791— .4  Tale  of  San  Domingo. 

out,  for  he  was  a  man  of  courage  and  a  master 
of  weapons,  he  met  the  foremost  negro  in  the 
hall-way  and  ran  him  through,  yet  not  without 
receiving  a  slash  upon  the  upper  left  arm. 
Another  negro,  making  at  him  with  an  axe, 
fell  dead  from  a  pistol-shot  within  the  door- way 
of  his  daughter's  room.  At  a  third,  who  was 
entering  the  window,  he  fired,  but  in  the  dim 
light  the  ball  went  astray,  and  the  negro, 
adroitly  avoiding  a  sabre-thrust,  sprang  upon 
him  with  a  yell.  Colonel  Tourner  was  a  man 
of  strength  as  well  as  courage,  but  the  left  arm 
was  helpless  from  the  stab  in  the  muscles,  and 
the  negro,  who  was  a  powerful  fellow,  had  borne 
him  to  his  knees,  and  was  wrenching  the  sabre 
from  him,  when  he  cried  out,  "  Shoot,  Emilie!" 
She  had  kept  behind  her  father,  almost 
expiring  with  terror,  yet  resolute  to  help  him, 
if  she  could.  She  could  tell  in  the  dimness  he 
was  wounded,  for  his  left  side  was  all  bloody, 
and  when  the  hand-to-hand  struggle  began, 
she  saw  his  disadvantage  with  an  awful, 
despairing,  sinking  dread.  But  as  her  father 
went  down  a  tremendous  spring  of  energy 


1791—^4  Tale  of  San  Domingo.        123 

suddenly  steeled  her,  and  at  his  outcry,  quick 
as  thought,  she  levelled  the  weapon  and  fired 
at  close  quarters,  the  negro  pitching  over, 
fatally  struck. 

Meanwhile,  two  of  the  insurgents  had  broken 
into  the  Colonel's  chamber  and  were  now  strug 
gling  with  the  house-servants,  who,  having 
rushed  up-stairs  at  the  uproar,  came  to  their 
master's  aid.  Seizing  the  pistol  from  his 
daughter,  the  Colonel  despatched  one  of  these 
with  the  remaining  barrel,  when  the  other 
negro  was  overpowered. 

Madame  Tourner,  at  the  outburst  of  terror, 
had  remained  a  moment  in  an  agony  of  prayer. 
She  was  one  of  those  ordinarily  nervous  women, 
whose  steadiness  comes  to  the  surface  in  extrem 
ities.  Descending  by  a  private  stairway,  with 
outcries  to  the  house-servants,  she  ran  for  the 
alarm-bell.  The  ringing  and  firings  at  once 
aroused  the  plantation.  The  manager  rushed 
forth  with  arms,  the  slaves  flocked  from  the 
quarters,  and  falling  upon  the  rest  of  the  band 
in  greatly  superior  numbers,  speedily  put  them 
to  flight. 


124        1791— .4  Tale  of  San  Domingo. 

With  a  sense  of  infinite  relief  Colonel  Tour- 
ner  saw  from  the  window  that  his  slaves  were 
proving  faithful,  cheered  his  wife  and  daughter 
as  they  stanched  and  bound  his  wound,  and 
hastened  out.  But  the  insurgents  had  fled, 
leaving  several  of  their  number,  slain  in  the 
melee.  Calling  his  slaves  about  him,  he  thanked 
them  again  and  again  for  their  devotion,  and 
asked  if  they  would  protect  him  to  Petite  Ance, 
where  the  neighboring  whites,  he  knew,  would 
concentrate  for  safety.  They  answered  with  a 
will ;  and  directing  M.  Fauchet  to  have  a  con 
veyance  in  immediate  readiness,  he  turned  in  for 
the  preparations.  Not  an  instant  was  to  be  lost, 
for  the  insurrection  would  gather  every  moment 
in  numbers  and  ferocity.  All  blood-stained 
and  among  frightful  corpses,  Madame  Tourner 
and  her  daughter  threw  on  their  garments  and 
entered  the  double  gig  with  the  Colonel  and  M. 
Fauchet.  The  accompanying  negroes,  armed 
with  plantation  implements  and  whatever  else 
they  could  lay  hands  on,  were  fleet  of  foot  and 
kept  up  with  the  horses.  A  third  of  the  dis 
tance  had  been  made  when,  looking  back,  they 


1791— ,4  Tale  of  San  Domingo.        125 

saw  Belle  Vue  in  flames,  fired  either  by  another 
band  or  a  disaffected  remnant  of  the  plantation 
negroes.  At  the  end  of  the  next  mile  the 
negro  guard  returned,  Petite  Ance  being  in 
view ;  and,  a  few  moments  after,  Colonel  Tour- 
ner  and  his  family,  thanking  Grod  for  their 
lives,  pressed  into  the  distracted  village. 

Fugitives  from  massacred  homes  were  flying 
in  at  intervals,  their  agonies  finding  vent  on 
realizing  their  personal  safety,  and  increasing 
every  instant  the  consternation.  The  terrified 
people  thronged  the  street,  uncertain  what 
course  to  pursue.  Some  were  for  making  a 
stand  at  the  village.  Others  thought  that  if 
the  rising  was  general  the  negroes  would  soon 
unite  in  overpowering  force,  and  that  they  could 
make  a  body  sufficiently  numerous  to  resist 
the  individual  bands  in  which  the  insurgents 
were  for  the  moment  acting,  and  reach  the 
Cape.  Colonel  Tourner's  arrival  strengthened 
the  latter  view,  and  a  considerable  party  at 
once  set  out  for  Cape  Francois.  Progress  was 
as  rapid  as  circumstances  would  allow,  for 
almost  all  were  afoot,  the  greater  part  in  naked 


126        1791— A  Tale  of  San  Domingo. 

feet,  and  among  them  many  tender  women, 
accustomed  to  every  surrounding  and  refine 
ment  of  wealth.  Negro  bands  were  met,  but 
the  party  was  too  strong  to  be  taken,  and 
towards  day-break  reached  the  Cape.  Henry 
Pascal  had  remained  at  his  post,  eagerly  search 
ing  and  inquiring  among  the  fugitives.  In 
this  group  he  found  his  friends,  and,  trans 
ported  with  joy,  accompanied  them  to  the  Hotel 
de  Ville. 


CHAPTER  VII. 

THE  BATTLE. 

[HE  morning  of  the  23d  broke  dismally 
over  Cape  Francois.  The  first  action 
of  the  authorities,  as  the  formidable 
character  of  the  insurrection  became  more  and 
more  apparent,  was  to  lay  an  embargo  on  the 
vessels  in  the  harbor  and  send  aboard  the 
women  and  children.  Of  the  British  vessels 
in  port,  one  was  despatched  to  Jamaica  for  aid, 
and  this  step,  following  the  loud  talk  that  had 
been  prevalent  at  Cape  Francois  of  a  British 
protectorate,  gave  rise  to  a  widespread  rumor 
among  the  insurgents  that  the  English  were 
coming  to  possess  themselves  of  the  island. 

The  General  Assembly  was  now  in  session 
at  the  Cape.  Imitating  the  example  of  the 
National  Legislature,  it  had  taken  affairs  en- 

127 


128        1791— ^4  Tale  of  San  Domingo. 

tirely  into  its  own  hands,  the  royalist  governor- 
general,  M.  Blanchelande,  giving  a  mere  formal 
assent  to  proceedings  he  could  neither  arrest 
nor  amend.  The  sudden  presence  of  a  great 
and  common  danger  healed  the  breach.  The 
General  Assembly  at  once  placed  in  the  gov 
ernor's  hands  the  National  Guard;  as  many 
sailors  and  marines  as  could  be  spared  from  the 
ships  were  sent  ashore;  all  able-bodied  men 
were  enrolled  into  the  militia,  and  a  force  of 
five  or  six  thousand  straightway  organized  for 
the  city's  defence.  A  strong  mulatto  contingent 
formed  a  part  of  this  force.  For,  moved  by 
the  extreme  gravity  of  affairs,  the  General 
Assembly  not  only  took  measures  to  protect 
the  mulattoes  from  the  threats  of  the  petits 
blancs,  but  by  formal  action  ratified  the  15th 
of  May  decree.  The  mulattoes  were,  in  con 
sequence,  entirely  won,  and  with  all  the  zeal 
that  the  powerful  interests  of  property  inspire 
(the  well-to-do  among  them  being  universally 
slave  owners),  they  proffered  to  march  with 
the  whites  against  the  insurgents,  leaving  their 
wives  and  children  as  hostages.  A  part  of  the 


1791— A  Tale  of  San  Domingo.        129 

troops  was  employed  in  fortifying  and  guarding 
the  city.  An  assault  by  land  was  possible  only 
at  two  points — the  strip  between  the  bay  and 
the  Western  Morne,  and  a  narrow  exit  to  the 
northwest  between  the  Western  Morne  and  its 
northern  companion.  The  guns  of  the  British 
frigate  Sappho  commanded  the  seaward  strip, 
and  the  attention  of  the  authorities  was  con 
centrated  upon  making  good  the  northwestern 
passage.  The  larger  and  more  efficient  portion 
of  the  troops  was  designed  for  offensive  opera 
tions  against  the  insurgents. 

In  the  midst  of  all  these  preparations  M. 
Tardiffe  managed  to  elude  military  service. 
A  soft,  sensual,  luxurious  mode  of  life — the 
truffles  and  capons  of  Gonaives  would  alone 
satisfy  him — rendered  him  averse  to  war,  even 
had  he  naturally  possessed  a  more  martial 
spirit.  He  was,  too,  secretly  with  the  blacks, 
and  believed  they  would  ultimately  triumph, 
if  not  through  their  vast  numerical  superiority, 
at  least  by  the  aid  of  the  rising  Jacobin  party 
in  France.  Besides,  he  had  no  interests  in  San 
Domingo  beyond  his  passion  for  Emilie  Tour- 
9 


130        1791— ^4  Tale  of  San  Domingo. 

ner ;  and  in  behalf  of  this  passion  he  was  eager 
for  freedom  to  turn  to  account  the  auspicious 
opportunities  events  were  placing  before  him. 
Availing  himself,  therefore,  of  the  recognized 
influence  with  the  blacks  which  his  extreme 
and  well-known  Jacobin  opinions  had  procured 
for  him,  he  successfully  represented  to  M. 
Blanchelande,  while  professing  hearty  sympa 
thy  with  the  whites  in  the  present  crisis,  that, 
as  an  occasion  for  mediation  might  arise,  it 
would  be  better  that  he  should  remain  neutral. 
Early  next  morning  he  made  a  flying  visit 
to  Madame  Tourner  and  her  daughter  on  the 
man-of-war  Sappho,  where  they  had  quarters. 
Prior  to  going  he  had  brought  forth  from  its 
drawer  in  the  escritoire  his  bank-book,  between 
the  leaves  of  which  were  a  number  of  £100 
notes  recently  received  from  London,  and  these 
he  took  out  and  held  for  some  moments  in  a 
meditative  way.  He  was  evidently  weighing 
something,  and  presently  reached  a  conclusion 
— a  conclusion  quite  satisfactory,  judging  from 
the  ripple  of  complacency  that  passed  over  his 
features,  and  one  apparently  involving  the  use 


1791— .4  Tale  of  San  Domingo.        131 

of  a  part  of  this  money;  for,  drawing  out  a 
note,  he  very  carefully  folded  it,  and  securing 
the  same  in  a  neat  little  package,  transferred 
it  to  his  vest-pocket.  Before  replacing  the 
book,  he  turned  with  triumphant  eyes  to  his 
bank-account.  There  stood  the  £50,000  record 
of  deposit,  made  four  years  back !  There,  too, 
stood  the  interest — interest  that  had  been  freely 
used,  but  still  showing  a  substantial  balance. 
There  it  was;  all  down  in  black  and  white, 
and  no  mistake. 

"Sagacious  me,  happy  me,"  ran  his  thoughts, 
"who  have  this  in  solid  British  gold  in  place  of 
howling,  cut-throat  blacks  and  wasted  planta 
tions  !  Emilie  Tourner  captured,  and  then  for 
England!  For  where  one's  treasure  is,  there 
one's  home  should  be  also,  and  there  shall  the 
nest  be  made  for  this  shy  little  bird.  The 
maiden  disdains  me,  but  I  shall  possess  her 
with  the  greater  joy.  And  you,  my  potent 
yellow  boys" — as  with  an  exulting  ha!  ha!  he 
patted  the  bank-book — "  aid  thy  master's  cause." 

He  was  cordially  received  by  Madame  Tour 
ner,  still  dazed  by  the  shock  she  had  sustained, 


132        1791—^4  Tale  of  San  Domingo. 

and  who,  in  an  hour  so  dreadful,  thinking  less 
of  personal  loss  than  of  the  common  peril,  was 
most  eager  for  authentic  news.  Notwithstand 
ing  the  excited  throng  aboard  they  succeeded 
in  finding  a  place  apart  for  conversation ;  and 
as  they  became  seated  he  said,  in  the  bland 
and  turgid  style  peculiar  to  him : 

"  Most  heartily,  Madame  Tourner,  do  I  felici 
tate  you  again" — for  his  greeting  had  been 
given  with  an  expression  of  joy  at  seeing 
her  alive — "  upon  your  marvellous  deliverance. 
All  manner  of  on  dits  are  current  in  regard  to  it." 

"  I  am  indeed  thankful,  monsieur." 

"Where  is  mademoiselle,  and  how  is  she?" 
he  asked. 

"  Poor  fimilie !  she  is  prostrated,  and  unable 
to  see  any  one." 

"  Is  it  true,"  he  queried,  "  that  she  slew  one 
of  her  father's  assailants?  Her  magnificent 
conduct  is  the  town's  talk." 

"  She  has  skill  with  the  weapon,  having  often 
practised  with  her  father,  and  fired  to  save  him. 
The  ebb  of  the  terrible  strain  has  left  her  well- 
nigh  undone.  But  oh !  monsieur,"  she  added, 


1791— ^4  Tale  of  San  Domingo.        133 

4 

averting  her  head,  and  with  a  movement  of  the 
hand  as  if  pushing  away  something  dreadful, 
"  spare  me  from  recalling  the  horrors  of  that 
night!  Let  us  speak  of  the  present.  What 
news  have  you  of  Colonel  Tourner?  I  have 
neither  seen  nor  heard  from  him  for  the  past 
twelve  hours." 

"  Your  husband,  madame,  is  now  a  veritable 
colonel,  commanding  a  citizen  regiment,  and 
fortifying  the  Northwestern  pass  beyond  the 
Champ  de  Mars." 

"  What  is  Monsieur  Pascal  doing  ?  " 

"  You  refer,  I  presume,  to  the  younger  Pas 
cal?" 

"  Yes.  He  sent  fimilie  a  hurried  note  yester 
day  afternoon,  telling  her  he  expected  to  be  in 
battle  on  the  25th — to-morrow — yet  saying 
nothing  of  his  special  duties." 

"  Monsieur  Pascal  has  been  assigned  to  an 
artillery  company,  and  is  drilling  at  the 
arsenal." 

"  Tell  me,  monsieur,  how  go  affairs  in  the 
city,  and  what  is  thought  of  the  situation  ?  " 

uThe  Cape  is  a  bee-hive,  void  of  drones," 


134        1791— ^4  Tale  of  San  Domingo. 

* 

he  replied;  "every  soul  pressed  into  service 
and  laboring  most  sedulously.  Even  Monsieur 
Charles  Pascal  refuses  to  be  excused,  and  is  in 
the  ranks  of  the  citizen  soldiery." 

"How  happens  it,  then,  monsieur,  that  we 
have  you  here?" 

"  Have  I  not  sufficient  interest  in  you  and 
yours,  madame,  to  importune  for  an  hour's 
leave  of  absence  ?  " 

"Your  kindness  is  most  considerate,"  she 
answered. 

"My  dear  madame,"  he  said,  expanding 
somewhat  his  usual  smile,  "the  leave  of  absence 
is  a  jest.  Notwithstanding,  my  interest  in  your 
behalf  is  none  the  less  sincere.  The  truth  is,  a 
conference  with  M.  Blanchelande  has  resulted 
in  my  being  held  in  reserve  for  special  pros 
pective  duties,  in  the  discharge  of  which  I  may 
be  far  more  serviceable  than  I  could  possibly 
be  on  the  field  or  in  the  trench." 

A  moment's  pause  ensued,  when  he  answered 
the  inquiry  he  saw  upon  the  lips  of  his 
hostess : 

"It  is  known,  as   you  are  no  doubt  aware, 


1791—^  Tale  of  San  Domingo.        135 

that  I  possess  influence  with  the  blacks,  and  I 
am  reserved  as  a  possible  peace-maker." 

"  Are  hopes  of  peace  entertained?"  she  asked 
eagerly,  "and  do  you  think,  monsieur,  we  shall 
regain  our  possessions  ?  " 

The  latter  interrogatory  turned  the  conversa 
tion  in  the  precise  direction  desired  by  M.  Tar- 
diffe,  who  replied : 

"  I  might  answer  more  definitely  after  to-mor 
row's  battle.  The  blacks  are  concentrating 
near  Petite  Ance  under  the  notorious  Dessa- 
lines,  and  a  number  of  battalions  march  from 
the  Cape  to-morrow  morning  to  attack  them." 

"  Would  our  prevailing,  do  you  think,  mon 
sieur,  crush  the  rebellion  ?  " 

With  a  shrug  of  the  shoulders,  and  lifting 
his  brows,  he  slowly  answered : 

"  Pos-si-bly." 

"  '  Possibly ' !  do  you  say,  monsieur —  '  Pos 
sibly/  under  these  circumstances?"  she  asked, 
as  the  distress  upon  her  countenance  visibly 
deepened.  "  Mon  Dieu !  then  you  despair." 

"  The  sentiment  of  France,  madame,  favors 
the  blacks.  The  planters  may  recover  their 


136        1791— A  Tale  of  San  Domingo. 

estates,  but  their  slaves,  in  my  judgment, 
never  !  " 

"What  are  estates  without  cultivators?" 
she  asked,  with  an  absent  air  and  a  tone  of 
bitterness. 

"  The  estates,  madame,  if  regained  would  be 
but  naked  soil.  Fire,  I  hear,  has  devoured 
the  plain.  The  blacks  have  destroyed  every 
thing,  and  rendezvous  in  the  mountains.  I 
trust  your  own  sterling  slaves  have  saved 
Belle  Vue." 

"  No,  monsieur ;  alas !  no.  The  flames  burst 
forth  ,when  we  were  a  mile  away.  We  have 
lost  everything"  tears  filling  her  eyes,  "and 
have  sunk  at  once  to  utter  poverty." 

"  Hundreds  of  others,  madame,  are  in  similar 
circumstances,"  said  her  visitor  in  a  voice  of 
apparent  sympathy. 

"  So  much  the  worse,  monsieur.  'Tis  impos 
sible  for  me  to  realize  our  situation.  I  know 
the  dreadful  truth  must  come — crushingly  come; 
but  I  am  utterly  confounded,  and  as  yet  it 
makes  little  impression  upon  me  that,  except 
the  clothes  we  wear  and  a  casket  of  jewelry  I 


1791— A  Tale  of  San  Domingo.        137 

caught  up  in  leaving,  we  are  absolutely  penni 
less.  My  woes,  Monsieur  Tardiffe,  are  like 
those  sudden  and  fatal  wrenchings  of  the  body 
which  deprive  the  victim  of  the  power  to 
feel." 

"It  gratifies  me  to  know,"  said  M.  Tardiffe, 
as  if  endeavoring  delicately  to  divert  from  her 
self  her  painful  thoughts,  yet  adroitly  pursuing 
his  object,  "  that  the  circumstances  of  our  Pas 
cal  friends  are  not  so  deplorable  as  I  had 
supposed." 

She  turned  upon  the  speaker  a  look  of  inter 
ested  inquiry,  and  he  continued : 

"  You  remember  my  mentioning,  the  evening 
of  the  *  Crop  Over/  a  bit  of  Cape  gossip,  that 
the  Pascal  estates  were  to  pass  under  the  auc 
tioneer's  hammer  ?  " 

She  nodded  assent. 

"Well,  the  gossip  was  an  error,"  he  went  on 
to  say,  "and  arose  out  of  Monsieur  Pascal's 
half- formed  purpose  to  dispose  of  his  profitless 
possessions." 

"  In  what  respect,  monsieur,  is  he  better  off?" 

"  I  apprehend,  madame,  that  simply  to  lose 


138        1791—^1  Tale  of  San  Domingo. 

all  is  preferable  to  losing  all  and  being,  more 
over,  encumbered  with  debt." 

"  I  suppose  so,"  she  answered,  in  a  dejected 
and  negative  sort  of  way. 

"  Last  evening  Monsieur  Pascal  was  telling 
me  he  had  naught  remaining  save  his  son's 
right  arm,  and  he  bitterly  regretted  not  having 
realized,  as  he  had  had  thoughts  of  doing,  upon 
his  plantations." 

"  Alas !  monsieur,  how  many  are  stung  with 
the  same  regret!" 

"  At  the  beginning  of  revolutionary  activity," 
remarked  Monsieur  Tardiffe,  "I  anticipated 
the  probability  of  these  issues  and  disposed  of 
my  possessions  here ;  and  I  would  have  bidden 
adieu  to  San  Domingo,"  he  added,  dropping  his 
voice  to  the  pitch  of  emphasis,  "  had  not  my 
love  for  your  daughter  restrained  me — a  love, 
alas !  that  has  proven  hopeless." 

At  a  loss  for  reply  to  the  latter  sentiment, 
Madame  Tourner  asked  abruptly : 

"What,  monsieur,  are  your  present  pur 
poses  ?  " 

"  To  take  flight  the  instant  I  can  arrange  my 


1791—^4  Tale  of  San  Domingo.        139 

affairs.  San  Domingo  is  no  longer  a  domicile 
for  whites,  even  for  those  possessing  affluence." 

"  And  whither  do  you  go?"  she  asked  again. 

"  To  old  England." 

"  Your  investments  are  there,"  she  remarked. 

"  Yes,  madame ;  investments  in  lieu  of  what 
otherwise  would  have  been  insurgent  slaves 
and  estates  in  ashes." 

"  Oh !  that  my  husband,  monsieur,  had  shown 
the  same  forecast!  Mon  Dieu!  Mon  Dieu!" 
she  exclaimed  in  tones  of  keen  distress,  as  the 
thoughts  her  visitor  had  been  thrusting  upon 
her  took  effect,  "what  will  become  of  us? 
Where  we  shall  go,  what  we  shall  do,  God 
only  knows ! " 

Deeming  the  wound  sufficiently  irritated  for 
the  emollient,  M.  Tardiffe  said,  in  his  kindest 
manner : 

"  Be  reassured,  dear  madame,  be  reassured ; 
you  have  a  stay  in  adversity,  even  able  and 
willing  friends.  At  this  juncture  to  realize  on 
your  bijouterie  would  be  impossible,  and  I  crave 
acceptance  of  this,"  handing  her  the  little 
package  from  his  vest-pocket.  "One  word 


140        1791— A  Tale  of  San  Domingo. 

more,  madame,  if  you  please"  as  he  saw  him 
self  threatened  with  interruption.  "If  you 
can't  receive  it  absolutely,  reimburse  at  your 
convenience.  I  concede  the  amplest  limit ;  and 
remember,"  laying  stress  to  his  words,  whatever 
I  possess  is  freely  at  your  service." 

She  was  still  on  the  point  of  replying,  when 
he  again  interposed : 

"Pray,  don't  speak  of  it,  madame,  don't 
speak  of  it,  I  must  insist.  The  obligation  is 
upon  myself  for  the  opportunity.  I  must  now 
to  the  city,"  he  said,  rising  and  extending  his 
hand.  "  Remember,  dear  madame,  you  are  to 
feel  perfectly  secure  as  regards  finance.  What 
are  we  for  but  to  assist  each  other  ?  And  please 
commend  me  to  mademoiselle." 

On  opening  the  package  immediately  after 
the  departure  of  her  guest,  Madame  Tourner 
was  surprised  at  the  amount,  and  doubted 
much  whether,  without  the  concurrence  of  her 
husband,  she  should  have  taken  it.  It  annoyed 
her,  likewise,  that  while  their  pecuniary  condi 
tion  was  most  deplorable,  she  had  gone  beyond 
the  strict  reality  in  stating  it,  since  Colonel 


1791— A  Tale  of  San  Domingo.        141 

Tourner  had  saved  his  cash  in  hand,  and 
u absolutely  penniless"  was  not  the  actual 
status.  There  was,  too,  a  pang  from  wounded 
pride  in  receiving  this  aid.  The  result  of  M. 
TardifFe's  visit,  however, "was  a  decided  balance 
of  comfort,  and  for  his  considerate  and  ample 
generosity  her  thoughts  went  out  towards  him 
in  a  very  grateful  way. 

Thursday  morning,  the  25th,  a  force  some 
three  thousand  strong,  commanded  by  M.  de 
Touzard,  a  distinguished  French  officer,  left 
the  Cape  in  high  feather  to  assault  the  insurgent 
camp.  The  march  was  from  the  arsenal  along 
the  quay,  and  as  the  troops  passed  the  Sappho 
at  the  southern  extremity  of  the  city,  they 
received  a  salvo  from  the  man-of-war.  Emilie 
Tourner  was  on  deck  in  the  throng,  but  seemed 
oblivious  to  the  roar  and  huzzas.  In  apparent 
expectancy  her  eyes  were  bent  upon  the  troops 
filing  by.  Suddenly  her  countenance  bright 
ened  as  she  caught  the  flutter  of  a  handkerchief 
from  one  of  the  batteries,  and  a  wave  from  her 
own  answered  the  salute. 

The  San  Domingo  blacks  were  a  remarkably 


142        1791—^4  Tale  of  San  Domingo. 

energetic  race  of  negroes,  and,  in  numbers  and 
efficiency  greatly  underrated  by  the  whites, 
had  now  concentrated  near  Petite  Ance.  Their 
leader  was  Paul  Dessalines,  twin  brother  to 
the  famous  chief,  Jean  Jacques  Dessalines,  who, 
some  years  later,  aided  by  yellow  fever,  drove 
out  the  veterans  of  Napoleon,  avenging  the 
perfidious  seizure  of  Toussaint  1'Ouverture, 
and  winning  black  independence.  The  equal 
of  Jean  in  ability,  he  would  have  equalled  him 
in  renown  had  not  his  cruelties  early  in  the 
struggle  made  him  the  victim  of  a  conspiracy. 
The  brothers,  physically  and  morally,  bore 
to  each  other  the  most  striking  resemblance. 
Paul  Dessalines  was  the  black  slave  of  a 
mulatto  carpenter  of  the  same  name,  from 
whose  cruelties  he  had  fled  to  the  mountains, 
where  he  raised  the  standard  of  revolt.  The 
course  of  affairs  in  France  and  the  struggle  of 
the  mulattoes  for  civil  rights  engendered  among 
the  blacks  a  wild  spirit  of  liberty,  which  a 
general  laxity  of  rule  throughout  the  colony 
greatly  favored.  Under  these  circumstances, 
Dessalines  gained  many  recruits,  and  soon 


1791— A  Tale  of  San  Domingo.        143 

became  the  recognized  head  of  a  formidable 
band,  and  was  the  chief  fomenter  of  the  insur 
rection.  His  men  were  disciplined  with  inex 
orable  severity  and  drilled  in  the  most  careful 
manner,  arms  being  readily  obtained  from  the 
neighboring  Spaniards,  whose  troops  were  dis 
tributed  along  the  line  of  demarcation,  and 
between  whom  and  the  French  there  existed 
an  inveterate  jealousy.  They  were  indifferent 
shots,  but  the  dreadful  bayonet,  attached  to 
muskets  of  unusual  length,  proved  in  their 
powerful  hands  well-nigh  resistless.  Dessalines 
himself  was  entirely  illiterate,  unable  either  to 
read  or  write,  yet  possessed  a  shrewd  intelli 
gence,  and  delighted  in  the  display  of  a  low 
cunning.  His  profound  knowledge  of  negro 
character,  joined  to  great  bodily  strength  and 
undaunted  courage,  enabled  him  to  acquire 
over  his  followers  unbounded  influence.  His 
military  talents  stood  in  daring  movement  and 
astonishing  celerity.  In  his  morals  he  was 
execrable,  a  lustful,  bloodthirsty  monster,  whose 
savage  character  was  deepened  by  daily  pota 
tions  of  rum.  His  subordinates  trembled  before 


144        1791— A  Tale  of  San  Domingo. 

him,  and  never  felt  their  heads  safe  upon  their 
shoulders  until  out  of  his  presence.  Withal, 
a  preposterous  vanity  possessed  him.  He  sur 
rounded  himself  with  mimic  royalty,  gave  his 
officers  grand  titles,  dressed  in  flashy  uniform, 
and  (it  is  said)  even  carried  about  with  him  a 
dancing-master,  whose  instructions,  as  McKen- 
zie  has  humorously  observed,  very  much  resem 
bled  an  attempt  to  teach  a  tiger  civilization. 
He  made  occasional  forays  upon  the  plain, 
retiring  with  the  booty  beyond  the  Spanish  line, 
and  his  name  was  a  terror  throughout  all  the 
Northern  province. 

A  league  west  from  Petite  Ance,  or,  rather, 
from  its  site,  for  Dessalines  had  just  destroyed 
the  village  in  fire  and  blood,  lay  a  valley, 
skirted  on  three  sides  by  dense  woods,  a  sylvan 
cut  de  sac.  At  the  head  of  this  valley  Dessa 
lines  had  encamped  with  a  force  six  or  seven 
thousand  strong,  a  force  constantly  increasing, 
almost  wholly  unorganized,  many  without  arms 
save  an  axe  or  a  club,  yet  fresh  from  massacres, 
raging  with  ferocious  passion  as  famished  tigers 
that  had  tasted  blood,  and  conscious  of  the  fate 


1791—^  Tale  of  San  Domingo.        145 

awaiting  failure.  Every  step  of  progress  on 
the  part  of  the  French  from  the  time  of  leaving 
the  Cape  his  runners  made  known  to  the  black 
chief.  He  awaited  an  attack,  instead  of  being, 
as  he  usually  was,  the  attacking  party,  because 
his  camp  was  a  centre  for  concentration,  and 
every  possible  moment  was  needed  to  put  in 
some  sort  of  array  the  raw  and  swelling  throng. 
His  trained  musketeers,  divided  into  squads, 
he  distributed  through  the  mass  to  serve  as 
centres  of  discipline  and  steadiness.  Fearing 
the  effect  of  the  artillery,  in  order  to  counter 
act  it,  as  well  as  to  force,  as  far  as  possible, 
hand-to-hand  fighting,  and  give  the  superb 
physique  of  the  blacks  its  opportunity,  Dessa- 
lines  encouraged  a  notion  prevailing  among 
them,  that  could  they  once  touch  the  cannon 
and  mutter  over  them  certain  magical  words 
the  guns  would  be  hurtless. 

M.  de  Touzard  rested  his  troops  through  the 
mid-day,  and  sighting  the  insurgents  late  in 
the  afternoon,  immediately  advanced  upon 
them  with  his  batteries .  in  the  centre.  The 
first  discharge  from  the  cannon  was  a  signal 
10 


146        1791— .4  Tale  of  San  Domingo. 

for  the  onset  of  the  blacks,  who  rushed  with 
wild  cries  to  the  muzzles  of  the  guns.  Several 
of  these  were  served  by  experienced  artillerists 
from  the  ships -of- war  in  port,  and  did  fearful 
execution.  The  blacks,  moreover,  were  exposed 
to  a  cross  fire  from  the  wings,  and  before  the 
deadly  volleys  fled  into  the  forest.  The  French 
began  to  think  the  battle  ended,  when  the 
enemy  again  charged  pell-mell  from  the  woods. 
These  charges  were  repeated  with  a  promptness 
and  impetuosity  astonishing  to  De  Touzard; 
and  though  the  blacks  in  some  instances 
reached  the  enemy's  line  and  got  in  bloody 
work,  yet  they  were  invariably  driven  back 
by  the  fatal  French  fire,  and  as  nightfall 
approached,  Dessalines  resolved  upon  a  change 
in  the  disposition  of  his  men.  Concentrating, 
therefore,  his  musketeers,  he  placed  himself  at 
their  head,  and,  followed  by  his  entire  force, 
threw  himself  resistlessly  upon  the  batteries. 
The  artillerists  were  overwhelmed,  and  clubbed 
or  bayoneted  almost  to  a  man;  the  French 
centre  was  completely  broken,  and  De  Touzard 
was  in  despair,  when,  to  his  utter  amazement, 


1791— ^4  Tale  of  San  Domingo.        147 

the  main  body  of  these  brave  but  untutored 
warriors,  having  put  the  spell  upon  the  cannon 
and  being  unconscious  of  their  advantage, 
betook  themselves  with  a  number  of  prisoners 
to  the  woods.  The  French  rallied,  and  drove 
back  the  remainder  of  the  enemy. 

It  was  now  dark,  and  firing  ceased.  De 
Touzard,  confounded  at  the  numbers  and 
desperate  courage  of  the  blacks,  and  finding 
they  were  receiving  constant  accessions,  deemed 
it  prudent  to  retreat.  With  the  camp-fires 
burning,  he  quietly  withdrew,  leaving  his  dead 
and  cannon  behind,  and  reached  the  Cape  after 
midnight.  The  French  loss  was  small  com 
pared  with  that  of  the  insurgents,  who  exposed 
themselves  in  the  most  reckless  way. 

Among  the  captives  was  Henry  Pascal.  He 
had  been  struck  down  senseless,  and  was  about 
receiving  a  bayonet  stab  when  a  powerful  black 
rushed  up,  and,  thrusting  aside  the  weapon, 
exclaimed :  "  He's  my  prisoner !  "  His  res 
cuer,  whoever  he  was,  became  lost  to  him  in 
the  darkness  and  tumultuous  retreat  to  the 
woods. 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

INTERCEDING. 

1HEN  Dessalines  discovered  the  retreat 
of  the  French  it  was  too  late  to  pur 
sue  ;  but  he  despatched  several  fleet 
mulatto  runners,  who,  mingling  with  the  mu 
latto  troops  in  the  French  army,  entered  the 
Cape  in  the  confusion,  and  during  the  night 
scattered  on  the  streets  copies  of  his  proclama 
tion.  As  shown  below,  it  was  a  bombastic 
and  sanguinary  production,  thoroughly  charac 
teristic  of  the  man,  and  written,  at  his  dicta 
tion,  by  his  secretary,  Chantalle,  an  educated 
mulatto ;  for  Dessalines'  learning  did  not  go 
beyond  the  ability  mechanically  to  scrawl 
his  name. 

"LIBERTY  OR  DEATH! 

"  Blacks !  the  G-od  of  justice -has  brought  the 
148 


1791—^1  Tale  of  San  Domingo.        149 

axe  to  bear  upon  the  decrepit  tree  of  slavery 
and  prejudice,  and  raised  my  arm  to  strike  off 
your  fetters.  The  irritated  Genius  of  San 
Domingo  appears — his  aspect  is  menacing — his 
hand  is  powerful.  Like  an  overflowing  and 
mighty  torrent,  that  bears  down  all  opposition, 
let  your  vengeful  fury  sweep  away  your  oppres 
sors.  Tyrants !  usurpers !  tremble.  Our  dag 
gers  are  sharpened,  your  punishment  ready! 
Ten  thousand  men,  obedient  to  my  orders,  burn 
to  offer  a  new  sacrifice  to  Liberty.  Awakened 
from  your  lethargy,  with  arms  in  your  hands, 
join  your  brothers,  and  claim  your  sacred  and 
indelible  rights.  Where  is  the  black  so  vile, 
so  unworthy  of  regeneration,  as  to  pause  ?  If 
there  be  one,  let  him  fly ;  indignant  nature 
discards  him  from  our  bosom.  Let  him  hide 
his  infamy  far  from  hence.  The  air  we  breathe 
is  not  suited  to  his  gross  organs ;  it  is  the  air 
of  liberty,  pure,  august,  and  triumphant. 

"Yellows!  whom  the  infernal  politics  of 
Europeans  for  a  long  time  endeavored  to 
divide  from  us,  rally  to  our  standard.  Similar 
calamities,  hanging  over  your  proscribed  heads, 


150        1791— A  Tale  of  San  Domingo. 

should  make  us  indivisible  and  inseparable. 
It  is  the  pledge  of  your  happiness,  your  salva 
tion,  and  your  success.  It  is  the  secret  of  being 
invincible.  Independence  or  death !  Let  these 
sacred  words  be  the  signal  of  battle  and  of 
union. 

"  They  tell  us  that  the  English  from  Jamaica 
are  coming  to  assist  the  French,  and  refasten 
upon  our  limbs  the  galling  fetters  of  slavery. 
Let  these  English  be  accursed.  Every  man 
from  Jamaica  falling  into  our  hands  shall  be 
put  to  death. 

"Headquarters  near  the  Cape,  August  24, 
1791. 

"(Signed)        GENERAL  DESSALINES." 

Tidings  of  the  repulse  spread  like  wild-fire, 
and  the  morning  of  the  26th  found  the  Cape  in 
an  agony  of  despair.  The  inhabitants  were 
horror-stricken  and  in  the  most  dreadful  state 
of  uncertainty  as  to  what  course  to  pursue.  It 
was  believed  that  Dessalines  was  marching  on 
the  city.  His  force  was  vastly  exaggerated, 
and  many  thought  it 'better  at  once  to  make 


1791— A  Tale  of  San  Domingo.        151 

terms,  even  with  such  a  monster,  than  to  pro 
voke  his  rage  by  fruitless  resistance.  Such  at 
the  moment  was  the  fear  and  irresolution  that, 
had  the  black  chief  appeared  before  the  Cape, 
it  must  undoubtedly  have  fallen.  Happily  for 
it,  he  was  then  planning  an  assault  upon  Don- 
don  and  Grand  Riviere,  and  the  inhabitants 
of  the  Cape,  recovering  from  their  panic,  soon 
rendered  its  naturally  strong  defences  impreg 
nable. 

The  news  of  Henry  Pascal's  capture  at  once 
became  known  throughout  the  city,  where  his 
frank,  open  manners,  and  generous  qualities 
had  made  him  a  universal  favorite.  In  view 
of  Dessalines'  proclamation,  there  was  but  one 
opinion  as  to  his  fate;  for  he  was  partly 
English  or  American  born,  had  an  English  air, 
and  spoke  the  language  as  a  native.  Withal, 
he  had  recently  arrived  from  Jamaica,  and,  in 
ignorance  of  the  proclamation,  would  not  be  on 
his  guard.  Beyond  this  consideration,  it  was 
thought  the  savage  Dessalines  would  not  fail  to 
wreak  vengence  on  the  prisoners  for  the  horri 
ble  tortures  with  which  certain  captured  blacks 


152        1791— ^4  Tale  of  San  Domingo. 

had  been  just  put  to  death  at  the  Cape.  Early 
on  the  morning  of  the  26th  Colonel  Tourner, 
who  could  not  leave  his  duties,  by  one  of  his 
men  despatched  a  note  to  his  wife  with  a  copy 
of  the  proclamation,  acquainting  her  with  the 
situation,  and  deeply  commiserating  the  capture 
of  M.  Pascal.  He  detailed  the  grounds  for  the 
opinion  universally  entertained  in  regard  to 
his  fate,  and  added  that,  as  his  daughter  would 
scarcely  avoid  hearing  the  report,  it  would  be 
better  she  should  break  the  news  to  her  with 
out  delay,  and  as  considerately  as  possible. 

Confused  rumors  of  the  disaster  had  reached 
the  Sappho.  Wild  fears  prevailed  among  the 
refugees  aboard.  The  desire  for  authentic 
intelligence  was  intense.  Madame  Tourner, 
therefore,  received  her  husband's  letter  with 
the  utmost  eagerness,  and  immediately  repaired 
to  her  apartment  to  read  it,  accompanied  by 
her  daughter.  The  latter  was  intently  listen 
ing,  when  suddenly  her  mother's  voice  ceased. 

"  What  is  it?"  she  anxiously  cried,  advanc 
ing  to  look  over  the  letter. 

"In  a  moment,  Emilie;  there  is  something 


1791—^4  Tale  of  San  Domingo.        153 

here  for  me"  answered  Madame  Tourner,  as 
her  eyes  rapidly  ran  over  the  lines. 

An  explanation  was  unavoidable,  and  making 
a  hurried  finish,  she  said  before  her  daughter 
could  speak,  and  with  as  much  composure  as 
she  could  assume : 

"Your  father,  fimilie,  mentions  unpleasant 
news  as  to  one  of  our  friends." 

"What  friend?  Is  it  Monsieur  Pascal?" 
she  exclaimed  almost  in  the  same  breath ;  for 
she  knew  he  had  been  exposed  to  danger,  and 
it  flashed  into  her  mind  there  could  be  no 
other  friend  whose  misfortune  would  be  likely 
to  be  withheld  from  her. 

"  Yes,  Emilie ;  but—" 

"  Has  he  been  killed?  "  she  broke  in  with  a 
quivering  lip. 

"No." 

"Wounded?" 

"  No." 

"What,  then,  has  befallen  him?" 

"  He  is  a  captive." 

"  A  captive  in  the  hands  of  Dessalines !  "  she 
cried  out,  with  a  countenance  turning  deadly 


154        1791— A  Tale  of  San  Domingo. 

pale,  as  the  negro  horrors  she  had  lately  expe 
rienced,  and  all  the  stories  she  had  heard  of 
the  black  chief,  conjured  up  the  most  harrowing 
fate.  "  0  Maman !  Maman !  it  would  have 
been  better  had  he  fallen  in  battle!"  And 
she  sank  into  her  seat  and  sobbed  aloud  in  her 
anguish.  Madame  Tourner  rose,  and  tenderly 
kissing  her  daughter,  put  her  arms  about  her. 

"  He  yet  lives,  Emilie,  and  while  there  is 
life  there  is  hope." 

"What  does  my  father  say?"  she  asked, 
looking  up. 

Her  mother  remained  silent. 

"  Let  me  see  his  letter." 

There  was  a  momentary  reluctance  to  yield 
it,  when  she  wildly  cried : 

"  Oh !  I  must  see  it,  I  must  know  all !  "  And 
receiving  the  letter,  she  read  it  and  the  enclosed 
proclamation  with  intense  expression,  her  man 
ner  the-  while  undergoing  an  evident  change ; 
for,  having  finished,  she  said  with  a  firm  voice 
and  resolute  air : 

"  There  is  but  one  possible  means  to  save  him, 
and  I  must  put  it  into  immediate  execution." 


1791 — A  Tale  of  San  Domingo.        155 

Madame  Tourner  directed  towards  her  daugh 
ter  a  quick  glance  of  interrogation,  and  she 
replied : 

"I  will  crave  the  intercession  of  Monsieur 
Tardiffe;  he  has  great  influence  with  the 
blacks,"  rising,  as  she  spoke,  to  make  prepara 
tions  for  leaving. 

"  My  child !  my  child !  "  exclaimed  Madame 
Tourner,  alarmed  for  her  daughter's  mind 
under  these  terrible  and  repeated  strainings, 
"  are  you  beside  yourself?  Will  you  go  to  the 
city,  and  unprotected,  too,  when  Dessalines  is 
hourly  expected,  and  they  are  preparing  the 
Sappho  for  action  ?  " 

"  I  have  no  fears,"  she  replied  with  a  calm 
ness  strange  to  her  mother;  for  her  being, 
though  powerfully  roused,  had  become  harmo 
nious  and  steady,  as  all  the  faculties  settled 
around  a  definite,  firm,  and  hopeful  resolve. 
"  My  father's  messenger  will  be  my  companion." 

"  But,  Emilie,  my  child,  consider,  I  beseech 
you.  What  grounds  have  you  for  reckoning 
upon  success  with  Monsieur  Tardiffe?  He 
has  noble,  generous  qualities,  and  such  an 


156        1791— .4  Tale  of  San  Domingo. 

appeal  may  not  exceed  their  limit;  but  it 
would,  under  all  the  circumstances  be  straining 
them  very  far." 

"  I  know,"  she  answered,  with  the  same 
strange  and  sudden  calmness,  more  alarming 
to  her  mother  than  the  outgush  of  grief  had 
been,  "that  I  have  declined  his  addresses  to 
receive  those  of  the  man  for  whose  life  I  am  to 
entreat  his  intercession ;  but  these  very  circum 
stances  are  the  nobleness  of  the  opportunity. 
If  there  be  in  Monsieur  Tardiffe  anything  great 
and  generous,  he  will  hear  me ;  and  I  feel  I 
shall  succeed,"  she  added,  glowing  with  noble 
thought,  and  judging  him  from  the  standpoint 
of  her  own  lofty  nature. 

Madame  Tourner  knew  the  resolute  character 
of  her  daughter.  She  was  fearful,  too,  of  the 
effect  of  useless  opposition  upon  an  already 
overstrained  mind ;  and  conscious,  withal,  that 
any  hope  for  Henry  Pascal  lay  in  the  direction 
of  the  proposed  step,  ceased  to  remonstrate. 
In  a  few  moments  Emilie  Tourner  had  made 
herself  ready,  and  stood  in  the  presence  of  the 
Sappho's  commander,  Captain  Winslow,  to  ask 


1791— ^4  Tale  of  San  Domingo.        157 

a  permit  for  an  hour  ashore.  Astounded  at 
the  request,  the  first  impulse  of  the  captain 
was  a  downright,  peremptory  refusal.  But 
youth  and  beauty,  pleading  for  a  noble  object, 
make  a  powerful  advocate.  Captain  Winslow 
listened,  and,  as  Dessalines  had  not  been  re 
ported  near,  at  length  yielded  to  his  lovely 
suppliant  on  a  life  and  death  mission ;  exacting, 
however,  her  immediate  return  aboard  upon 
the  signal  of  the  enemy's  approach,  a  gun  from 
the  Sappho  ;  and  within  an  hour  after  the  arri 
val  of  her  father's  messenger  she  had  landed 
on  the  quay,  with  her  companion,  from  the 
jolly-boat  of  the  ship. 

They  at  once  crossed  to  la  rue  St.  Nicholas, 
fimilie  Tourner  being  closely  veiled  and  direct 
ing  her  companion ;  for  the  Cape  was  familiar 
to  her,  and  she  knew  the  location  of  M.  Tar- 
diffe's  home.  A  few  blocks  off,  they  turned 
north  into  la  rue  Dauphine,  up  which  their 
course  lay.  Comparatively  few  persons  were 
met,  the  citizens  being  all  under  arms  at  the 
assailable  points.  Here  and  there  groups  of 
mulatto  women  were  observed  gossipping  in 


158        1791—^4  Tale  of  San  Domingo. 

low  tones,  and  the  city  wore  a  hushed  and 
oppressive  air.  At  the  corner  of  la  rue  des 
Trois  Chandeliers  they  passed  "Aunt  Sabina," 
in  those  days  a  well-known  and  eccentric  Cape 
character,  who  for  many  years  had  been  vending 
from  this  corner  her  famous  ginger-bread  and 
sugar-candy.  The  terrors  of  the  hour  were 
apparently  lost  upon  the  aged  negress,  who 
occupied  her  customary  stool,  with  a  tray  of 
merchandise  before  her.  A  twenty  minutes' 
walk  brought  them  to  the  Place  d'Armes,  the 
most  beautiful  square  in  Cape  Francois,  and 
fronting  which  on  the  north  side  stood  the 
mansion  of  M.  Tardiffe.  The  fountain  was 
playing,  and  the  park,  under  the  influence 
of  the  early  rains,  in  splendid  leaf  and  flower, 
but,  absorbed  in  her  thoughts,  ISmilie  Tourner 
was  oblivious  to  external  objects.  Of  the 
church  alone,  just  south  from  the  park,  did  she 
appear  conscious,  and,  in  passing  it,  devoutly 
crossed  herself  in  supplication  upon  her  mis 
sion.  Here  she  dismissed  her  attendant,  with 
a  message  to  her  father  to  see  her  as  soon  as 
possible.  A  stroke  from  the  knocker  brought 


1791— A  Tale  of  San  Domingo.        159 

the  valet,  and  she  was  ushered  into  M.  Tardifte's 
luxurious  drawing-room. 

When  he  presently  appeared  he  was  so 
utterly  confounded  at  meeting  Emilie  Tourner, 
and  at  such  a  crisis,  and  with  a  countenance  so 
stricken  by  the  terrors  and  griefs  she  had  ex 
perienced,  that  for  a  moment  he  could  not  speak. 
Recovering  himself,  he  quickly  advanced,  ex 
tending  his  hand,  and,  catching  from  the  intense 
soul  before  him  a  spirit  of  reality,  broke  through 
the  mask  of  blandishment  he  commonly  wore, 
and  exclaimed  with  genuine  feeling  : 

"Mademoiselle!  Is  it  possible?  In  God's 
name,  what  has  happened?" 

In  low,  intense  tones,  without  a  blush  or 
hesitation,  for  self-consciousness  was  sunk  in  an 
overpowering  fear  for  her  lover,  she  answered : 

"  Monsieur  Pascal  is  a  prisoner,  and  I  am 
here  to  ask  you,  as  the  only  hope  for  his  life, 
to  intercede  with  Dessalines ;  a  word  from  you, 
monsieur,  can  save  him." 

M.  Tardiffe  was  again  completely  thunder 
struck,  and  for  an  instant  could  not  reply. 
When  he  did,  it  was  to  repeat  the  words : 


160        1791— A  Tale  of  San  Domingo. 

"To  intercede  with  Dessalines!  Mademoi 
selle,  do  you  know  anything  of  this  man  ?  " 

"  I  have  heard  of  him,"  she  replied,  "  as  a 
bloody-minded,  merciless  marauder,  and  he 
swears  death  to  every  comer  from  Jamaica." 

"  Yes,  mademoiselle ;  and  if  he  has  heard  of 
the  horrible  and  indiscriminate  torturing  of 
blacks  here,  his  fury  is  boiling  to  revenge  it." 

"  It  needs  not,  monsieur,  to  deepen  the  char 
acter  of  Dessalines.  I  know  enough  to  feel 
persuaded  that  you  alone  may  save  Monsieur 
Pascal,  even  if  it  be  not  already  too  late  to 
make  the  effort." 

"  It  was  not  my  design,  mademoiselle,  believe 
me,"  replied  M.  Tardiffe,  falling  into  his  usual 
turgid  manner  of  speech,  "to  assure  you  of  the 
fate  of  these  unhappy  captives,  but  to  indicate 
the  danger,  even  to  an  intercessor,  with  Dessa 
lines  in  his  present  mood." 

"But  you  have  great  influence  with  the 
blacks,"  she  answered. 

"  I  have  influence  in  that  direction,  they 
say,  mademoiselle ;  though  quite  probably  it  is 
overestimated." 


1791— A  Tale  of  San  Domingo.        161 

"And  I  have  ventured  here,  monsieur,  to 
beg  of  you  to  use  it  in  mercy,"  spoke  the  same 
low,  intense  voice. 

"  Mademoiselle,"  he  replied,  still  bewildered 
at  the  request,  yet  beginning  to  see  in  it  possi 
ble  advantages  for  himself,  and  delaying  an 
answer  until  he  could  better  take  in  the  bear 
ings,  "  I  have  never  met  Dessalines." 

"  But  Dessalines,  monsieur,  certainly  knows 
of  you,  and  he  will  hear  your  word.  Let 
me  entreat  this  favor"  she  added  with  fervid 
emphasis,  and  lifting  her  hands  in  supplica 
tion  ;  "  beyond  it  there  is  no  hope." 

It  was  observed  just  now  that  a  lovely 
women,  in  distress,  and  pleading  for  a  noble 
end,  wields  a  magic  eloquence;  and  Emilie 
Tourner's  profound  grief  and  appealing  look 
and  voice  drew  sympathy  even  from  a  nature 
as  cold  and  as  selfish  as  that  of  M.  Tardiffe. 
He  could  not  find  it  in  his  heart  to  prolong  or 
dally  with  the  mental  agony  visible  behind  her 
comparatively  calm  exterior,  and  which  gave 
her  an  almost  preternatural  aspect ;  and  there 
fore  replied : 
11 


162        1791— ^4  Tale  of  San  Domingo. 

"  Mademoiselle,  I  am  at  your  service,  freely. 
Whatever  can  be  done  shall  be  done.  But  I 
must  have  time  to  consider.  What  you  ask 
involves  difficulty  and  danger.  The  where 
abouts  of  Dessalines  is  not  now  known.  Many 
think  he  is  advancing  upon  the  Cape.  Some 
definite  intelligence  will  doubtless  be  received 
this  afternoon,  and  I  shall  be  able,  most  proba 
bly,  to  give  an  answer  by  four  o'clock.  Under 
no  circumstances  could  action  be  taken  before 
to-morrow  morn." 

Warmly  and  fittingly  £milie  Tourner  ex 
pressed  her  thanks,  and,  rising,  said : 

"  I  must  now  return.  I  had  but  an  hour's 
leave  of  absence,  and  the  time  is  almost 
expired,"  glancing,  as  she  spoke,  at  an  antique 
French  clock,  the  face  of  which  was  ingeniously 
contrived  to  form  portions  of  a  picture  upon 
the  wall. 

"But,  mademoiselle,  you  must  not  return 
afoot  and  in  the  heat.  I  will  have  a  gig 
instanter,"  said  M.  Tardiffe,  as  he  left  the 
room ;  and  ordering  a  servant  immediately  to 
place  refreshments  before  his  guest,  he  went 


1791— .4  Tale  of  San  Domingo.        163 

for  the  vehicle  himself,  dwelling  the  while 
upon  this  startling  request  to  intercede  with 
Dessalines.  Returning  with  the  livery,  he 
rapidly  drove  his  visitor  to  the  Calle  opposite 
the  Sappho.  The  ship's  boat  was  hailed,  and 
fimilie  Tourner  went  aboard  a  few  moments 
behind  time. 

Madame  Tourner's  note  and  the  accounts 
given  by  the  messenger  greatly  alarmed  the 
Colonel,  and  the  jolly-boat  had  been  scarcely 
made  fast  when  he  hailed  its  return  to  the  Calle. 

"  Tidings  have  just  come,"  he  said,  as  he 
embraced  his  wife  and  daughter,  overjoyed  at 
seeing  him,  "  that  Dessalines  is  yet  in  camp, 
and  planning  a  move  upon  Dondon,  and  I 
have  a  bit  of  time  off.  I  am  here  mainly  on 
your  account,  Emmie,"  turning  to  his  daughter, 
and  using  the  name  by  which  he  commonly 
addressed  her.  "  I  reached  Monsieur  Tardiffe's 
just  after  you  had  left.  Your  trip  to  town  was 
reckless,  RECKLESS,  my  child,  and  it  amazes  me 
that  Captain  Winslow  should  have  allowed  it." 

"  Well,  it  is  all  over,"  she  answered,  with  a 
faint  smile,  "  and  you  see  me  safe  and  sound." 


164        1791— A  Tale  of  San  Domingo. 

"I  don't  see/'  he  replied,  "that  you  are 
altogether  safe  and  sound ;  your  face  is  flushed, 
and  your  eyes  look  congested,"  scrutinizing 
her  as  he  spoke.  "My  daughter,"  he  added 
in  quickened  tones,  as  he  took  her  hand  and 
pressed  it,  "have  you  fever?" 

"  Oh  !  no,"  was  her  answer,  with  an  evident 
effort  to  brighten  up.  "Don't  you  think  I 
have  passed  through  enough  to  account  for 
some  excitement  and  headache  ?  " 

"  I  dread,  Emmie,  these  keen  mental  strain 
ings.  They  are  fraught  with  danger;  and  it 
grieves  me  you  should  have  heightened  them 
this  morning  by  what  will  prove,  I  fear,  a  barren 
effort." 

"  There  is  hope  for  success,  my  father,"  she 
eagerly  rejoined.  "As  far,  at  least,  as  regards 
Monsieur  Tardiffe's  willingness." 

"  Emmie,  Emmie,  don't  set  your  heart  upon 
this  hope.  It  needs  a  great  height  of  generosity, 
such  as  I  must  believe  is  beyond  Monsieur 
Tardiffe's  reach." 

This  remark  drew  a  response  from  Madame 
Tourner.  The  character  of  M.  Tardiffe,  as 


1791—^4  Tale  of  San  Domingo.        166 

suitor  to  their  daughter,  had  often  come  up  for 
discussion  between  herself  and  her  husband, 
and  she  as  often  had  defended  it  from  what 
she  considered  unjust  disparagements.  His 
recent  generous  conduct  would  not  permit  her 
to  be  silent  now. 

"  Monsieur  Tardiffe,"  she  said,  "  has  taken  all 
the  action  which,  up  to  this  time,  is  possible ;  he 
has  declared  his  willingness  to  do  what  he  can, 
and  so  far,  at  least,  I  think  he  deserves  credit." 

"  Professions  are  cheap  things,  Marie,"  dryly 
observed  the  Colonel. 

"  He  was  our  first  visitor  since  our  arrival 
on  board,"  went  on  Madame  Tourner,  worried 
at  the  unfair  reflections  upon  her  friend.  "  He 
came  here  early  yesterday  morning  to  inquire 
after  us,  and  offered,  too,  to  place  his  means  at 


our  service." 


"Professions  again,  my  dear,  and  in  this 
quarter  I  have  never  doubted  Monsieur  Tar- 
diffe's  ability." 

Madame  Tourner  had  determined  for  the 
present,  at  least,  'to  withhold  from  the  knowl 
edge  of  her  husband  M.  Tardiife's  benefaction ; 


166        1791—  A  Tale  of  San  Domingo. 

but  the  opportunity  to  maintain  her  view  and 
clear  the  character  of  her  Mend  was  an  irre 
sistible  temptation,  and  she  replied  with  an  air 
of  triumph,  as  she  drew  forth  the  bill : 

"  Does  not  this  £100  note  Monsieur  Tardiife 
left  with  me  prove  him  a  man  of  deeds  ?  " 

The  Colonel's  face  darkened  in  silence. 
Never  before  had  money  been  received  under 
such  circumstances.  Madame  Tourner  saw  his 
chagrin,  and  hastened  to  exclaim : 

"  Forgive  me,  my  husband !  Monsieur 
Tardiffe's  delicacy  presented  it  not  as  a  gift, 
but  to  be  paid  back  whenever  we  choose.  I 
was  in  doubt  whether  I  should  receive  it,  and 
knew  not  the  amount  until  after  his  departure. 
But,  whatever  our  own  views  about  taking- 
it,  its  bestowal,  I  think,  shows  him  to  be 
something  more  than  a  bundle  of  mere  pro 
fessions." 

"  Marie,"  the  Colonel  gravely  said,  pursuing 
the  train  of  thought  awakened  by  this  incident, 
"  we  are  not  yet  outright  beggars." 

"My  husband,  what  have  we  left,  save  a 
remnant  of  cash  and  a  few  pieces  of  jewelry  ?  " 


1791— .4  Tale  of  San  Domingo.        167 

"  Getting  back  our  own,  Marie,  is  not  impos 
sible." 

"Oh!  that  I  could  see  the  faintest  ray  of 
hope,"  she  exclaimed.  "  Shall  we  get  back  our 
slaves,  with  the  negroes  in  open  rebellion,  and 
the  current  of  national  legislation  setting  in 
strongly  towards  emancipation  ?  " 

"  But,  Marie,  the  horrible  deeds  of  the  vil 
lains  must  change  the  current." 

"And  do  you  suppose,  my  husband,  the 
negroes  would  yield  then,  outnumbering  us  as 
they  do,  and  flushed  as  they  are  by  their 
successes?" 

"  And  do  you  suppose,"  rejoined  the  Colonel 
with  emphasis,  "  we  shall  not  be  able — aided, 
as  we  hope  to  be,  from  Jamaica — to  bring  an 
effective  force  against  them  ?  " 

"Oh!  Colonel  Tourner,  I  can't  imagine 
a  darker  prospect.  Even  were  our  slaves 
regained,  how  could  we  get  on  our  feet  again, 
with  fields  stripped  and  every  house  in  ashes  ?  " 

"  Affairs  are  dark,  dark,  Marie,  I  own ;  yet 
light  has  broken  over  darker  outlooks.  As  for 
this  money,  I  grant  the  generosity  of  the  act ; 


168        1791— ^  Tale  of  San  Domingo. 

but  my  wish  is  that  you  hand  it  back,  and  that 
you  say  to  Monsieur  Tardiffe  we  have  enough 
for  present  wants.  When  a  loan  is  needed, 
there  are  other  friends  I  would  prefer  seeking." 

"My  dear  husband,"  his  wife  replied,  still 
pressing  into  view  her  despairing  thoughts, 
"  where  can  you  find  that  other  friend  who  is 
not  also  beggared  ?  And  should  one  be  found, 
what  security  have  you  to  offer  for  a  loan? 
Mon  Dieu!  Mon  Dieu!  what  is  to  become 
of  us?" 

"  Come,  come,  Marie !  Our  talk  is  distress 
ing  Emmie,  whose  looks,  by  the  way,  give  me 
concern.  I've  been  absorbed  in  public  duties, 
with  little  time  for  thought  upon  personal 
matters,  yet  I  am  not  and  shall  not  be  hope 
less.  Great  mercies  have  been  granted  us  in 
the  sparing  of  our  lives,  and,  whatever  the 
darkness,  in  the  path  of  right  I  shall  look  for 
light." 

"Emmie,  my  dear  child,"  he  continued, 
turning  to  her,  and  speaking  in  a  voice  of 
subdued  tenderness,  "  calm  yourself,  and  yield 
to  whatever  Glod  may  will.  You  are  a  brave 


1791—^1  Tale  of  San  Domingo.        169 

girl  and  a  good  Christian,  and  an  hour  like 
this  is  a  trial  by  fire.  The  panic  is  waning, 
and  the  Cape  can  be  made  sure  against  all  the 
force  Dessalines  may  bring.  In  any  hap,  you 
and  your  mother  are  thoroughly  safe  here." 

"  Do  you  think  there  is  hope  for  M.  Pascal  ?" 
she  asked  in  an  intense  way,  indicative  of  her 
burning  thoughts. 

"Have  you  read  my  note  to  your  mother, 
Emmie?" 

"Yes,"  she  said,  "but  I  thought  your  opin 
ions  may  have  undergone  some  change  for 
the  better." 

"  I  have  nothing  to  add,  my  child,  and  let 
us  not  dwell  upon  this." 

"  Do  you  think,  please  let  me  ask,  that  M. 
Tardiffe's  intercession  would  be  successful?" 

"I  have  warned  you,"  he  replied,  "not  to 
set  heart  upon  his  trying  it." 

"  But,  my  father,  should  he  attempt  it,  what 
think  you  would  be  the  issue? " 

"Well,  Emmie,  I  can  say  thus  much:  M. 
Tardiffe  has  undoubted  weight  with  the  blacks, 
and  should  he  have  the  daring  and  greatness 


170        1791— .4  Tale  of  San  Domingo. 

of  soul  to  meet  Dessalines  and  press  the  cause, 
I  believe  there  would  be  good  ground  for  hope. 
But  I  must  have  a  word  with  the  captain 
before  leaving." 

And  so  saying,  he  sought  Captain  Winslow, 
an  interview  with  whom  in  reference  to  certain 
matters  bearing  on  the  Cape's  defence  consumed 
the  residue  of  the  Colonel's  time.  Kissing, 
therefore,  his  wife  and  daughter,  and  bidding 
them  keep  brave  hearts,  and  promising,  if 
nothing  prevented,  to  see  them  again  on  the 
morrow,  he  took  the  jolly-boat  and  was  speedily 
put  ashore. 


CHAPTER  IX. 

VAIN  PLEADING. 

IMMEDIATELY  upon  her  father's 
leaving,  fimilie  Tourner  sought  her 
sleeping  apartment  for  repose,  de 
clining  le  second  dejeuner,  the  light  midday 
repast  common  among  the  upper  classes  in  the 
West  Indies.  Madame  Tourner  had  partaken 
of  refreshments,  and  was  sitting  at  the  table 
abstracted  when  M.  Tardiffe's  card,  requesting 
a  private  interview,  was  handed  to  her.  She 
at  once  received  him,  and  they  conferred 
together  long  and  earnestly. 

The  substance  of  his  communication  was, 
that  San  Domingo  could  no  longer  be  a  fit 
place  for  whites ;  that,  had  emancipation  been 
brought  about  peacefully  and  by  degrees,  with 
the  institutions  and  methods  of  civilization 

171 


172       1791—^4  Tale  of  San  Domingo. 

preserved,  and  the  negroes  gradually  raised  to 
a  fair  standard  of  citizenship,  their  freedom, 
as  he  believed,  would  have  been  a  blessing 
to  all ;  but  that,  having  risen  in  merciless 
rebellion,  the  ignorant  and  bloody  wretches 
would  keep  the  colony  a  pandemonium ;  that, 
under  the  most  favorable  circumstances,  pros 
perity  could  not  return  for  a  generation,  and 
that  he  had  resolved,  by  the  first  opportunity, 
to  leave  for  England;  that  if  Henry  Pascal 
were  alive,  of  which  he  had  very  little  expecta 
tion,  his  penniless  condition  morally  freed 
mademoiselle  from  her  engagement;  that  M. 
Pascal  himself,  as  soon  as  he  had  time  for 
sober  reflection,  could  not,  as  a  man  of  honor, 
do  otherwise  than  insist  upon  the  release ;  that 
his  own  desire  and  purpose  was  to  offer  himself 
again  in  marriage  to  the  daughter;  that  the 
effort  of  his  life  would  be  to  provide  for  her  a 
happy  home  in  Old  England,  and  that  he 
would  welcome  her  parents  to  share  it  with  her. 
He  thanked  Madame  Tourner  very  warmly  for 
her  friendliness  towards  him,  expressed  the  hope 
that  she  would  second  his  final  suit,  and  asked 


1791— A  Tale  of  San  Domingo.        173 

her  to  give  to  mademoiselle  the  note  he  pre 
sented,  as  an  answer  to  her  supplication  to  inter 
cede  with  Dessalines  in  behalf  of  Henry  Pascal. 
Madame  Tourner  entered  into  M.  Tardiffe's 
views  and  hopes  with  the  utmost  eagerness. 
The  latter  had  sedulously  cultivated  her,  and 
succeeded  in  thoroughly  insinuating  himself 
into  her  favor.  Flattered  and  pleased  by  his 
adroit  blandishments,  she  remained  deceived 
as  to  his  real  character,  and  regarded  him  as 
being  altogether  the  most  eligible  offer  she 
knew  of  in  the  colony.  From  the  first  she  had 
been  partial  to  his  suit,  as  the  Colonel  had 
been  to  that  of  Henry  Pascal.  At  the  same 
time  she  entertained  a  just  regard  for  the  high 
character  of  the  latter,  and,  her  daughter's 
decision  having  been  made,  acquiesced  in  it 
cheerfully.  Jfow,  however,  as  the  fortunes  of 
both  families  had  been  swept  away  at  a  stroke, 
and  the  continuance  of  the  engagement,  in  her 
view,  out  of  the  question,  she  considered  it  the 
plainest  wisdom  and  a  moral  necessity  on  her 
daughter's  part  to  accept  M.  Tardiffe's  offer. 
A  lady  of  fashion  and  of  luxurious  tastes, 


174        1791—^1  Tale  of  San  Domingo. 

which  wealth  had  enabled  her  freely  to  gratify, 
the  sheer  poverty  confronting  her  was  an  un 
speakable  dread,  and  she  became  wrought  up 
almost  into  an  ecstasy  for  the  complete  and 
happy  deliverance  so  easily  within  her  daugh 
ter's  power.  She  was  persuaded  M.  Tardiffe 
had  the  qualities  to  make  a  good  husband,  and 
could  in  time  win  Emilie  Tourner's  affections ; 
and  the  contrast  between  her  daughter's  portion 
as  the  wife  of  such  a  man,  with  a  home  of 
affluence  in  sterling  Old  England,  her  father's 
ancestral  land,  and  where  she  herself  had  but 
recently  been  educated — the  contrast  between 
this  outlook  and  a  life  of  despairing  poverty  in 
distracted  San  Domingo,  with  the  island  in  the 
hands  of  insurgent  slaves,  and  not  an  influence 
at  work  or  in  prospect  under  which  the  Colonel 
could  expect  to  lift  himself  up,  was  so  over 
whelmingly  for  the  former  view  that  she  could 
not  be  without  hopes  that  the  offer  would  com 
mend  itself  to  her  daughter's  solid  judgment. 
Nevertheless,  she  thought  with  alarm  of 
opening  the  subject  to  her,  a  request  M.  Tar 
diffe  had  been  particular  in  pressing.  She 


1791—^4  Tale  of  San  Domingo.        175 

well  knew  how  closely  the  affections  of  fimilie 
Tourner's  strong  nature  were  knit  to  Henry 
Pascal;  the  excitements  and  terrors,  too,  of 
the  past  few  days  were  visibly  affecting  her; 
and,  deeply  loving  her  daughter,  she  dreaded 
to  add  aught  to  the  strain.  But  she  regarded 
it  as  a  life-and-death  crisis.  It  was  a  vital 
moment,  not  to  be  recalled,  for  attempting  the 
deliverance  of  her  daughter  and  family  from 
unutterable  wretchedness,  and  Madame  Tour- 
ner  summoned  her  resources  to  the  delicate 
and  fateful  task.  As  four  o'clock  drew  on, 
Emilie  Tourner  rose  from  the  ottoman,  whereon 
she  had  vainly  wooed  sleep,  and  made  ready 
to  meet  M.  Tardiffe.  Her  expectations  for  a 
favorable  response  had  been  heightened  by  the 
news  her  father  brought,  that  Dessalines  was 
yet  in  camp.  She  presently  joined  her  mother, 
and,  scanning  the  quay,  expressed  the  hope 
that  M.  Tardiffe  would  justify  his  reputation 
for  punctuality. 

"I  trust  you  are  feeling  better,  iSmilie," 
said  Madame  Tourner,  greeting  her  daughter 
in  a  cheery  way. 


176        1791— A  Tale  of  San  Domingo. 

"No,  maman,  I  am  not  better,  and  my  father's 
apprehensions  may  be  realized.  I  shall  be  glad, 
indeed,"  shading  her  eyes  with  her  hands  as 
she  spoke,  as  though  the  light  was  painful, 
"  when  the  interview  with  Monsieur  Tardiffe 


is  over." 


"  I  hear,"  remarked  Madame  Tourner,  hesi 
tating  from  a  sense  of  dread  to  open  the  subject 
her  mind  was  full  of,  "that  Captain  Winslow 
intends  sailing  for  England  as  soon  as  the 
safety  of  the  Cape  is  assured  and  the  embargo 
raised." 

"  For  England! "  musingly  replied  her  daugh 
ter — "  England  is  a  favored  land." 

"  It  is  indeed,  Emilie." 

"  Strange  that  this  people  should  be  so  quiet 
and  prosperous,  while  a  few  miles  over  the 
channel  another  people  are  writhing  in  political 
insanity ! " 

"Would  to  G-od,  my  child,  we  were  all 
there!" 

"  I  have  passed  some  happy  days  in  Eng 
land,"  remarked  Emilie  Tourner,  unheeding 
her  mother  and  speaking  in  the  same  musing 


1791—^  Tale  of  San  Domingo.        177 

way,  as  her  eyes  pensively  looked  out  over  the 
northward  waters,  "days  so  expectant  and 
hopeful.  Ever  since  my  return  the  clouds 
have  been  darkening,  darkening  over  us." 

"I  hear,  too,  iSmilie,  that  Monsieur  Tar- 
diffe  is  to  leave  for  England  by  the  first  oppor 
tunity  ;  perhaps  on  the  Sappho." 

"  I'm  not  surprised,"  answered  the  daugh 
ter.  "  My  surprise  is  that,  having  transferred 
his  wealth  thither  when  he  saw  this  storm 
brewing,  he  should  have  remained  till  it  burst." 

"You  know  the  cause,  Emilie.  Who  has 
held  him  in  San  Domingo  ?  " 

"  I  have  never  given  him  encouragement, 
maman,"  she  quickly  answered. 

"  Alas !  my  child,  'tis  but  too  true.  As  affairs 
have  gone,  it  would  have  been  far,  far  better 
had  you  listened  to  Monsieur  Tardiffe's  suit." 

"But  the  matter  is  decided,  maman,  and 
why  should  you  recall  the  issue  now  ?  I  hope," 
she  added,  "  he  will  soon  be  here,"  as  she 
again  scanned  the  quay  and  drew  her  hand 
across  her  forehead. 

Madame  Tourner's  moment  had  come. 
12 


178        1791—^4  Tale  of  San  Domingo. 

"Emilie,"  she  said,  speaking  slowly  and 
with  a  sudden  accession  of  mingled  tenderness 
and  solemnity,  "  I  have  somewhat  to  say  to 
you,  and  I  beseech  you,  as  though  they  were  a 
mother's  dying  words,  to  hear  me  patiently." 

Surprised  at  the  strength  and  abruptness  of 
the  appeal,  her  daughter  answered,  as  she  drew 
back  in  the  attitude  of  amazement : 

"Maman,  what  can  you  mean?  Have  I 
been  disposed  to  be  wanting  in  proper  respect 
for  your  opinions  and  wishes  ?  " 

"  When  I  look,  my  child,  upon  your  stricken 
face,"  her  eyes  filling  at  her  words,  "  I  dread 
to  speak ;  but  I  must  speak.  Will  you  consider 
what  I  have  to  say  ?  " 

"  Maman,  what  do  you  mean  ?  "  she  replied, 
more  and  more  astonished  at  her  mother's 
language  and  manner.  "What  I  must  know 
let  me  know  at  once,  and  I  promise  the  filial 
heed  you  have  ever  received." 

"  fimilie,  my  word  is  this,  and  bear  with  me 
in  saying  it :  If  Monsieur  Tardiffe  seeks  your 
hand  once  more,  let  me  implore  you  to  ponder 
the  opportunity." 


1791—^  Tale  of  San  Domingo.        179 

A  solicitation  more  unexpected,  and,  under 
all  the  circumstances,  more  trying,  to  Emilie 
Tourner  could  scarcely  be  conceived.  With 
disaster  and  distress  multiplied  around  her, 
and  her  tenderest  anxieties  profoundly  roused 
at  the  desperate  straits  of  Henry  Pascal,  it 
was  an  appeal,  at  the  very  moment  she  was 
endeavoring  to  rescue  her  lover,  to  turn  her 
back  upon  him  for  his  discarded  rival.  She 
perceived,  too,  in  the  suggested  breach  of  faith 
a  moral  obliquity,  and  altogether  her  mother's 
words  smote  her  intensely.  Hardly  believing 
her  ears,  she  exclaimed  with  suppressed  indig 
nation  : 

"  And  this  from  you  to  me,  maman !  Is  it 
possible  you  can  counsel  so  heartless  an  aban 
donment  of  Monsieur  Pascal — at  the  hour,  too, 
of  his  utmost  need,  and  when  my  effort  for  him 
springs  from  the  relation  I  bear  to  him  ?  " 

"My  heart  bleeds  for  you,  my  daughter," 
tenderly  answered  Madame  Tourner.  "  Alas ! 
that  they  who  love  must  often  weep.  But 
hear  me  through,  and  decide.  Have  you  not 
promised  filial  heed  ?  " 


180        1791— J.  Tale  of  San  Domingo. 

"  I  have,"  she  replied ;  "  but,  mon  Dieu ! 
why  reopen  here  this  closed  issue  ?  " 

"  I  will  tell  you,  fimilie.  fimilie,  I  love 
Monsieur  Pascal,  I  applaud  your  effort  for  him, 
yet  I  see  not  how  the  engagement  can  continue." 

"On  what  grounds ?" 

"  Because  the  fortunes  of  the  families  have 
changed,  Emilie.  Monsieur  Pascal  is  penniless, 
and  what  dowry  could  you  bring  him  ?  " 

"  If  the  worst  should  continue  here,  he  still 
has  expectations,"  replied  Emilie  Tourner,  with 
evident  effort  and  reluctance  at  speaking,  yet 
unavoidably  drawn  into  the  conversation. 

"  You  refer  to  the  Harrison  project  in  Ja 
maica?" 

"  Yes." 

"  But  you  are  aware,  fimilie,  of  the  common 
talk,  that  this  rising  of  the  slaves  must  rouse 
those  in  Jamaica,  and  that  the  hope  of  Eng 
land's  interfering  in  our  affairs  is  founded  upon 
her  fears  in  this  direction." 

She  looked  towards  her  daughter  for  an 
answer,  yet  received  none. 

"  Monsieur  Pascal's  expectations,  Emilie,  are 


1791—^4  Tale  of  San  Domingo.        181 

very  doubtful;  were  they  far  more  assured, 
mere  expectations  are  not  the  proper  prepara 
tion  for  matrimony ;  even  were  they  realized, 
Emilie,  Monsieur  Pascal's  income  would  be 
meagre  and  insufficient,  with  an  infirm  father, 
too,  now  dependent  upon  him." 

Emilie  Tourner  sat  silent,  with  eyes  down 
cast.  Fever  was  in  her  veins,  and  grief  swell 
ing  in  her  heart. 

"  fimilie,"  her  mother  continued,  "had  the 
fortunes  of  the  families  a  year  since  been  what 
they  are  to-day,  do  you  think  Monsieur  Pascal, 
whatever  his  affection  for  you,  would  have 
sought  you  in  marriage  ?  " 

Her  daughter  still  sat  silent. 

"  For  a  stronger  reason,  Elmilie,  are  you 
morally  freed  from  the  engagement,  because 
both  of  you  have  suddenly  sunk  from  affluence 
to  poverty,  with  all  the  trainings  of  affluence 
remaining;  and  Monsieur  Pascal,  as  soon  as 
he  can  reflect,  will,  I  feel  sure,  insist  upon  the 
release." 

An  answer  came  from  poor  Emilie  in  a  flood 
of  hot  tears. 


182        1791—^4  Tale  of  San  Domingo. 

Sorrow  is  king  of  this  world,  thought 
Madame  Tourner,  as  her  eyes  tenderly  dwelt 
upon  her  stricken  daughter.  Her  tears  she 
deemed  it  best  not  to  attempt  to  interrupt. 
She  herself,  though  hoping  the  worst  now  over, 
was  nevertheless  greatly  moved.  The  pang 
she  felt  compelled  to  inflict  upon  her  daughter 
touched  her  motherly  heart  to  the  core,  and, 
Emilie  Tourner's  paroxysm  of  tears  having 
passed,  she  said  to  her,  in  a  voice  low  and  full 
of  sweet  sympathy : 

"It  distresses  me,  Emilie,  very  deeply  indeed, 
to  have  to  say  these  things;  but  a  mother's 
love  moves  me,  and  if  I  have  chosen  this  hour 
to  speak,  it  is  because  an  unparalleled  and 
appalling  crisis  is  upon  us." 

"  Maman,"  answered  her  daughter,  to  whom 
tears  had  brought  temporary  relief,  and  who 
for  the  moment  felt  less  disinclined  for  a  part 
in  conversation,  "  I  understand  you,  and  believe 
you  speak  for  what  you  think  is  best.  But 
even  should  reverse  of  fortune  result  in  cancell 
ing  the  engagement"  (her  eyes  filling  again), 


1791—^  Tale  of  San  Domingo.        183 

"it  is  enough  that  my  hand  cannot  be  given 
where  my  heart  is  withheld." 

"Ihnilie,"  rejoined  her  mother  in  a  tone  of 
earnest  yet  tender  expostulation,  "  It  is  a  school 
girl's  notion  that  matrimony  must  needs  be  the 
sequence  of  a  passion." 

"  Matrimony,  maman,  is  a  sacrament,  and  a 
holy  estate,  and,  should  I  wed  Monsieur  Tar- 
diffe,  I  would  be  guilty  before  God." 

"No,  JCmilie,  no;  what  justifies  marriage, 
on  sentiment's  side,  are  the  qualities  that  com 
mand  friendship." 

"And  are  you  yet  to  learn,  maman,  that 
Monsieur  Tardiffe,  in  my  own  estimation  at 
least,  is  lacking  in  such  qualities?  " 

"  His  wooing  was  rejected,  Emilie,  as  I  had 
supposed,  not  from  positive  dislike,  but  because 
your  preference  had  been  won  in  another 
direction." 

"I  forbear,"  rejoined  Elmilie  Tourner,  "to 
speak  here  of  his  character  as  I  have  read  it ; 
for  he  shows  a  disposition  to  aid  in  Monsieur 
Pascal's  rescue,  and  so  far  I  own  his  conduct 
noble,  and  am  deeply,  deeply  grateful." 


184        1791— A  Tale  of  San  Domingo. 

"ICmilie,"  said  her  mother  with  increasing 
earnestness,  and  encouraged  by  a  willingness 
on  her  daughter's  part  to  bear  the  conversation-, 
"  our  straits  are  desperate ;  one  word  from 


can  save  us." 


"  I  know  our  forlorn  condition,  mam  an ;  no 
word  from  you  can  deepen  my  sense  of  it,  and 
to  any  honorable  sacrifice  I  would  give  myself, 
oh!  how  joyfully." 

"The  hour  is  supreme,  fimilie;  out  of  it 
issues  for  life  will  come.  Reflect  before  finally 
answering  Monsieur  Tardiffe.  /  beg  you  on  my 
knees"  exclaimed  Madame  Tourner,  with  pas 
sionate  energy,  rising  and  apparently  about  to 
assume  the  humiliating  posture. 

"  Never !  You  must  not !  Will  you  forget, 
maman,  a  parent's  dignity?"  exclaimed  fimilie 
Tourner,  rising  herself  and  extending  her  hand 
deprecatingly. 

"  I  forget  everything,  my  child,  save  the 
pressure  of  this  crisis.  Will  you  weigh  your 
answer,  Emilie?"  she  added,  resuming  her 
seat  and  bending  upon  her  daughter  an  intense 
look. 


1791— ^4  Tale  of  San  Domingo.        185 

"  You  have  my  word  to  give  you  filial  heed. 
But,  maman,  be  brief,  if  you  have  aught  else 
to  say.  I  feel  I  hardly  know  how,"  passing 
her  hand  across  her  brow ;  for  the  momentary 
betterment  was  vanishing  before  the  rising 
fever.  "  I  can  scarce  sit  up,  and  this  light 
seems  burning  into  my  eyeballs." 

"  Bear  with  me,  my  daughter,  one  moment 
more.  Emilie,  Monsieur  Tardiffe  is  a  gentle 
man,  amiable  and  in  every  way  accomplished, 
a  man  of  experience  and  ripened  judgment,  of 
ample  fortune,  and  with  no  faults  that  a  good 
wife  would  not  be  able  to  control." 

She  paused,  expecting  a  reply,  but  fimilie 
Tourner  sat  mute,  with  her  head  bowed  and 
the  left  hand  shading  her  eyes. 

"  A  man  of  such  a  character,  Emilie,  devoted 
to  your  happiness,  should  command  the  friend 
ship  that  justifies  marriage.  If  you  would 
listen  to  him  he  would  take  us  all  to  England 
— to  England,  where  you  have  lived  some 
happy  years,  and  for  which,  since  these  awful 
days  have  darkened  over  us,  I  have  often  heard 
you  sigh." 


186        1791— ^4  Tale  of  San  Domingo. 

She  glanced  at  her  daughter,  but  no  response 
came  from  the  bowed  form. 

"  The  alternative,  iSmilie,  is  wretchedness  for 
you  and  for  us.  We  are  face  to  face,  my 
daughter,  with  absolute,  hopeless  poverty,  and 
this,  to  those  who  have  known  affluence,  means 
a  living  death.  Even  should  our  slaves  be 
recovered — a  hope  I  see  no  expectation  of  ever 
being  realized — how  utterly  despairing,  Emilie, 
would  the  prospect  be,  with  the  estate  in  ashes, 
our  friends  as  stripped  as  ourselves,  and  the 
colony  all  torn  and  at  the  mercy  of  Jacobin 
legislation !  Your  father,  Emilie,  is  unskilled 
in  any  calling.  Were  it  otherwise,  where 
would  positions  offer  in  distracted  San  Do 
mingo  ?  And  could  a  position  be  obtained,  the 
pay  would  be  that  of  a  menial  and  cover  only 
vulgar  wants.  His  mind  is  now  absorbed  in 
other  directions — the  defence  of  the  Cape  excites 
and  engrosses  him ;  but  he  must  soon  wake  up 
to  his  personal  condition,  and  cruel,  cruel  days, 
Emilie,  are  at  hand — days  of  weary  and  fruit 
less  strugglings  with  poverty,  and  of  bitter 
memories,  and  humiliation  for  his  family. 


1791— ^4  Tale  of  San  Domingo.        187 

Oh !  my  daughter,  save  yourself  and  us  from 
lifelong  woe ! " 

Her  mother  again  paused ;  when  lifting  her 
head,  and  displaying  a  countenance  on  which 
grief  and  illness  were  tracing  unmistakable 
lines,  Emilie  Tourner  replied : 

"  Maman,  I  shall  weigh  the  answer,  as  you 
have  asked  me  to  do ;  but  I  must  retire.  Call 
me  when  Monsieur  Tardiffe  comes." 

"  He  has  been  here  already,  limilie,"  said 
Madame  Tourner. 

"  Been  here  already !  "  she  cried  out  in  blank 
astonishment. 

"  Why  did  you  not  call  me  ?  " 

"  It  was  unnecessary,  my  daughter." 

"  He  refuses,  then,"  she  said. 

"No,  Emilie,  he  has  arranged  to  go  early 
to-morrow  morning ;  but  he  goes  conditionally, 
and  his  valet  is  to  be  here  at  six  for  your 
answer.  This  is  his  note." 

She  seized  it  and  read : 

"  MADEMOISELLE  :  San  Domingo  can  no 
longer  be  an  eligible  abode  for  whites,  and 


188        n$l—A  Tale  of  San  Domingo. 

by  the  next  ship  I  bid  it  adieu  for  England. 
On  the  eve  of  departure  let  me  solicit  again 
the  hand  I  have  sought  so  long,  and  place  at 
your  feet  what  fortune  I  possess,  and  the  love 
that  repulse  has  not  diminished.  Let  me  ask 
you — and  your  parents — to  share  with  me  a 
happy  home  in  a  noble  land,  far  away  from 
this  frightful  island. 

*"Your  mother  is  empowered  to  explain 
matters  more  fully ;  and  should  this  note 
receive  your  approval,  I  shall  hasten  to  comply 
with  your  request,  and  imperil  my  life  in  the 
attempt  to  rescue  M.  Pascal. 

"  I  am,  mademoiselle,  with  profound  respect, 

"Louis  TARDIFFE." 

In  her  disturbed  state  of  mind  the  closing 
sentence,  for  an  instant,  was  unintelligible. 
She  re-read  the  note,  and  its  import  delivered 
a  blow  not  to  be  withstood.  The  sudden 
extinguishment  of  all  hope  for  Henry  Pascal, 
save  at  the  price  of  wedding  a  rejected  suitor, 
from  whose  character  she  shrank,  and  whose 
heartlessness  now  took  such  an  advantage  of 


1791— ,4  Tale  of  San  Domingo.        189 

her  necessity — together  with  her  mother's  dis 
tressful  appeal — was  too  much  for  an  already 
overburdened  spirit,  and  Emilie  Tourner  sank 
fainting  to  the  floor. 

Madame  Tourner's  experience  in  the  planta 
tion  hospital  taught  her  the  proper  course  at 
this  crisis.  Quickly  adjusting  her  daughter's 
form  to  a  horizontal  position,  she  applied  cold 
water  plentifully  to  the  face.  Under  these 
influences  Emilie  Tourner  rapidly  revived,  and, 
her  mother  having  hurriedly  called  in  help, 
they  assisted  the  patient  to  her  apartment, 
w"here,  exchanging  the  dress  for  a  wrapper, 
]5inilie  Tourner  sought  her  bed,  desiring  to  be 
left  entirely  to  herself  and  protected  against 
light  and  noise.  Madame  Tourner  retired  to 
the  sitting  apartment,  and,  collecting  her 
thoughts,  received  comfort  at  this  dreaded 
interview's  being  over.  On  the  whole  it  was 
much  more  satisfactory  than  she  had  had 
reasons  for  expecting,  and  she  was  not  without 
some  decided  hopes  for  a  successful  issue.  She 
felt  convinced  her  daughter's  practical  mind 
must  see  that  the  engagement  to  Henry  Pascal 


190        1791— .4  Tale  of  San  Domingo. 

was  at  an  end,  and  several  considerations 
encouraged  the  impression  that  she  would, 
upon  reflection,  think  favorably  of  M.  Tardiffe's 
offer — brilliant  under  ordinary  circumstances, 
and  now  plainly  providential.  Misinterpreting 
the  source  of  fimilie  Tourner's  comparative 
passiveness  (for  it  was  illness,  not  a  tendency 
to  acquiesce),  she  considered  it  hopeful  that 
her  daughter  did  not  resist  the  appeal  more 
decidedly.  Her  wish,  too,  just  expressed,  to 
be  left  entirely  to  herself,  was  taken  to  signify 
reflection  on  what  had  been  said  to  her,  and 
reflection,  under  all  the  circumstances,  Madame 
Tourner  regarded  as  a  prelude  to  the  hoped-for 
decision.  The  advantageousness  of  the  proposal 
in  every  way,  and  the  moral  necessity  of  closing 
with  it,  could  not  but  commend  itself,  she 
thought,  to  her  daughter's  practical  intelli 
gence  ;  and  even  should  she  regard  its  accept 
ance  as  a  pure  offering  to  her  parents'  welfare, 
her  mother  knew  there  was  a  spirit  and  a  piety 
equal  to  the  sacrifice ;  for  Emilie  Tourner  was 
heroic  of  soul,  and  a  daughter,  too,  in  whom 
filial  affection  and  dutifulness  were  "  ornaments 


1791—^  Tale  of  San  Domingo.        191 

of  grace  to  the  head  and  chains  of  gold  about 
the  neck."  These  favoring  circumstances  being 
dwelt  upon  by  Madame  Tourner,  and  colored 
and  exaggerated  by  her  intense  desires,  she 
was  wrought  up  to  think  that  what  her  daugh 
ter  ought  to  do  she  would  do,  and  awaited 
the  arrival  of  M.  Tardiffe's  valet  with  some 
sanguine  anticipations.  From  time  to  time 
she  softly  approached  the  entrance  to  the 
apartment  of  her  daughter,  whom  she  found 
apparently  resting  in  quiet,  and  would  not 
disturb. 

The  exterior  quiet,  however,  was  fallacious. 
Elmilie  Tourner  was  on  the  verge  of  acute 
illness.  The  fever  was  fast  passing  into  de 
lirium,  and  her  outward  repose  was  in  vivid 
contrast  with  the  agitation  of  the  mind,  whose 
chambers  were  thronged  with  dreadful  visions 
drawn  from  the  horrors  of  the  past  few  days. 
At  six  the  valet  arrived  punctually,  and  Madame 
Tourner  entered  her  daughter's  apartment  as 
the  latter,  in  a  state  of  semi-consciousness,  was 
rousing  herself  from  one  of  these  frightful 
visions,  in  which  the  monster  Dessalines  orders 


192        1791—^  Tale  of  San  Domingo. 

Henry  Pascal  to  execution.  Seeing  her  daugh 
ter  awake,  she  said : 

"  Emilie,  Monsieur  Tardiffe's  valet  has  come ; 
are  you  ready  to  give  an  answer  ?  " 

"  Oh !  let  him  save  Monsieur  Pascal,"  she 
cried  in  tones  of  deepest  pathos,  starting  up 
and  resting  on  the  elbow,  and  speaking  with 
a  wild,  terrorized  look,  which,  in  the  shaded 
room,  was  lost  upon  Madame  Tourner. 

"  On  the  conditions,  £milie,  he  has  asked  ?  " 

"Yes,  yes!" 

"  Shall  I  write  him  in  your  name  ?  " 

"  Yes ;  he  must  save  him." 

"  0  Henry !  "  she  cried,  with  an  outbreak  of 
tears,  and  for  a  moment  becoming  herself, 
"what  horrors  have  I  dreamed!  The  light," 
she  almost  screamed,  looking  towards  the 
entrance  to  her  apartment,  the  curtain  of  which 
Madame  Tourner  had  partly  drawn,  "  is  blind 
ing  me — oh !  my  head  is  bursting ! — let  me  be 
alone" — and  she  clasped  her  hands  to  her 
forehead  and  sank  back  upon  the  couch. 

In  the  agony  of  a  great  grief  even  a  mother 
is  an  intruder,  and  Madame  Tourner  imniedi- 


—^4  Tale  of  San  Domingo         193 

ately  withdrew.  Anxiety  in  regard  to  the 
decision  now  gave  place  to  sympathy  for  the 
sufferer.  She  knew  through  what  pangs  the 
decision  had  been  reached,  and  her  heart  was 
wrung  for  her  daughter.  Still,  there  was  a 
vast  sense  of  relief  that  it  was  all  over,  and 
over  so  happily.  It  would  all  be  for  the  best, 
she  knew,  and  her  daughter's  words  rung  in 
her  ears  as  angels'  voices.  The  prospect  cleared 
up  beautifully.  A  dark,  devouring  cloud  rolled 
off  from  before  her,  and  a  flood  of  silvery  sun 
shine  began  pouring  in.  She  at  once  addressed 
herself  to  the  note  to  M.  Tardiffe,  and  wrote 
as  follows : 

"  DEAR  MONSIEUR  TARDIFFE  :  I  write  in 
haste  and  in  Emilie's  name.  She  accepts  the 
conditions :  and  I  trust  and  believe,  should  you 
find  M.  Pascal  alive,  that  you  will  be  able  to 
rescue  him.  fimilie,  as  you  may  suppose,  is 
in  great  distress.  But  the  storm  will  soon  be 
over,  and  all,  I  am  sure,  will  be  bright  and  for 
the  best. 

"Be  on  your  guard  against  the  claws  of 
13 


194        1791—^  Tale  of  San  Domingo. 

Dessalines.     He   is   a  veritable  tiger,   and   I 
shall  be  in  dread  till  your  return. 

"  I  remain,  monsieur,  most  sincerely, 

"MARIE  TOURNER." 

Madame  Tourner  handed  the  note  to  the 
valet,  and  saw  him  off,  and  had  returned  to  her 
quarters  but  a  few  moments  when,  hearing  her 
daughter's  voice,  and  hastening  to  her  side,  she 
was  astounded  and  very  greatly  alarmed  to 
find  her  in  a  state  of  delirium,  in  which  the 
names  of  Henry  Pascal,  Dessalines,  and  M. 
Tardiffe  were  continually  and  piteously  recur 
ring.  The  ship's  surgeon  was  immediately 
summoned.  After  a  brief  examination  he 
pronounced  it  a  case  of  acute  and  critical  cere- 
britis,  superinduced  by  intense  mental  strain. 
Help  was  called  in,  and  the  patient  soon  dis 
robed  and  the  prescribed  remedies  adminis 
tered,  when  Madame  Tourner  withdrew  a 
moment  to  despatch  a  second  note  to  M.  Tar 
diffe.  As  ardently  as  she  desired  the  match 
with  the  ex-proprietor,  yet  she  was  a  woman  of 
honor  and  a  true  mother,  and  would  not,  for 


1791— ^4  Tale  of  San  Domingo.        195 

an  instant,  allow  M.  Tardiffe  to  act  under 
mistaken  impressions.  She  accordingly  wrote 
to  him  that  her  daughter  had  been  suddenly 
stricken  with  brain  fever,  and  that  her  sup 
posed  assent  to  the  "  conditions  "  was  given,  as 
she  now  feared,  in  a  moment  of  delirium  and 
irresponsibility. 

On  applying  to  Captain  Winslow  for  the 
service  of  a  messenger,  she  found  that  the 
hour  for  allowing  permits  ashore  had  passed. 
The  letter  was  delayed,  therefore,  until  the 
following  morning,  and  despatched  then  at  the 
earliest  practicable  moment.  It  failed,  how 
ever,  of  its  object ;  for  the  messenger  reported 
on  his  return  that  M.  Tardiffe  had  left  for  the 
country  an  hour  previous  to  his  arrival. 


CHAPTER  X. 
A  THOUGHTFUL  RIDE. 

HIS    last    effort    to    capture 

Tourner  had  not  appeared  very 
hopeful  to  M.  Tardiffe.  He  was, 
therefore,  most  happily  surprised  at  receiv 
ing  the  madame's  note.  "The  sweet  bird," 
he  inwardly  congratulated  himself,  "that  has 
eluded  me  so  long  is  at  last  caged  and  shall 
now  sing  for  me  alone."  He  had  really  no  ex 
pectation  of  being  able  to  rescue  M.  Pascal.  It 
was  universally  believed  that  the  prisoners  had 
been  put  to  death.  The  excessively  cruel  char 
acter  of  Dessalines — stimulated  as  the  mons 
ter  was  by  the  carnival  of  massacre,  emboldened 
by  victory,  and  pressed  towards  revenge  by  the 
horrible  tortures  with  which  a  number  of  blacks, 
without  show  of  trial,  had  just  been  put  to 
196 


1791— ^4  Tale  of  San  Domingo.        197 

death  at  the  Cape — gave  ample  warrant  for 
such  an  opinion.  It  was  felt,  too,  that  Dessa- 
lines  would  be  disposed  towards  violent  meas 
ures,  in  order  to  make  the  breach  between  the 
whites  and  blacks  irremediable.  And  in  regard 
particularly  to  Henry  Pascal,  no  one  who  had 
read  the  proclamation  entertained  a  doubt  that 
his  recent  arrival  from  Jamaica,  should  it  come 
to  the  knowledge  of  the  negro  chief,  would 
alone  and  at  once  decide  his  fate. 

M.  TardifiVs  supposition  was  that  he  would 
not  have  to  advance  far  into  the  country  before 
receiving  intelligence  in  regard  to  the  fate  of 
the  captives  definite  enough  to  warrant  his 
return ;  and,  though  he  should  not  have  rescued 
M.  Pascal,  yet  he  felt  that  fimilie  Tourner 
would  be  virtually  within  his  grasp.  The 
taking-oif  of  her  lover  would  remove  the  main 
obstacle  between  them,  and  the  attraction  resid 
ing  in  his  ample  and  secure  wealth,  joined  to 
the  powerful  advocacy  of  Madame  Tourner, 
would,  he  felt  assured,  finally  win  the  prize. 
Well  known  though  he  was  as  an  ami  des  noirs, 
he  was  sensible,  in  the  present  spirit  existing 


198        1791—^  Tale  of  San  Domingo. 

among  the  blacks,  of  the  danger  he  was  en 
countering  in  advancing  even  a  few  miles  beyond 
the  Cape,  and  took  what  precautions  he  could 
against  them.  One  was  to  go  entirely  unarmed. 
Weapons,  though  unused,  would  show,  he 
argued,  latent  resistance  and  tend  to  rouse 
aggression;  and  where  resistance  is  hopeless 
complete  defencelessness  is  the  safer  state. 
His  dress,  too,  was  of  the  plainest  style  consis 
tent  with  the  air  of  a  gentleman,  and  he  dis 
carded  every  kind  of  ornament  and  valuable 
likely  to  tempt  the  cupidity  of  black  marauders. 
He  put  aside,  therefore,  his  rings  and  watch, 
and  replaced  a  well-lined  silken  purse  with  a 
few  loose  coin. 

To  avoid  the  heat  as  well  as  the  rain,  which 
at  this  season  usually  begins  falling  about  noon, 
the  gig  had  been  ordered  early,  and  an  hour 
before  sunrise  M.  Tardiffe  was  a  league  beyond 
the  Cape.  It  was  Saturday,  the  chief  market- 
day,  and  within  the  first  few  miles  numbers  of 
colored  women  were  passed,  adroitly  balancing 
on  the  head,  with  arms  akimbo,  great  trays  of 
fruit  and  vegetables,  and  bundles  of  Guinea- 


1791— ^4  Tale  of  San  Domingo.        199 

grass.  A  sudden  and  exorbitant  rise  in  the 
price  of  such  commodities,  the  demand  being 
especially  pressing  from  the  shipping  in  port, 
had  tempted  the  venders  to  venture  forth. 
Beyond  this  limit  evidences  of  the  insurrection 
grew  distinctly  visible,  becoming  more  and 
more  pronounced  as  M.  Tardiffe  advanced. 
But  a  few  days  before  he  had  driven  through 
this  splendid  plain  then  teeming  with  a  busy, 
prospering,  and  opulent  population,  and  bear 
ing  on  its  fertile  bosom  in  richest  profusion 
every  staple  of  tropical  growth.  How  miser 
ably  had  all  changed!  Dessalines'  plan  of 
operations  displayed  his  sagacity.  This,  as 
mentioned  elsewhere,  was  to  desolate  the  plains 
and  rendezvous  in  the  mountains,  where  the 
labors  of  the  women,  aided  by  the  soil's  natural 
bounty,  would  supply  a  commissariat.  The 
results  were  now  before  M.  Tardiffe's  eyes. 
Broken  hedges  and  fencing,  utterly  wasted 
fields,  the  cane  being  everywhere  cut  down 
or  trodden  under  foot,  the  charred  debris  of 
tobacco  and  indigo  houses,  of  mansion  and 
sugar-mill,  had  converted  a  magnificent  and 


200        1791— .4  Tale  of  San  Domingo. 

exhilarating  prospect  into  one  broad  scene  of 
desolation. 

The  accounts  M.  Tardiffe  had  received, 
though  of  the  most  vivid  character,  failed  to 
convey  fit  impressions  of  this  wide  and  wanton 
waste, '  and  around  him  began  deepening  a 
sense  of  apprehension  which  the  perfect  soli 
tude  tended  to  enhance.  Where  were  the 
thousands  and  thousands  of  blacks  who  at 
this  hour  were  wont  to  go  forth  to  work  and 
greet  the  rising  sun  with  joyous  song  and  sally, 
as  in  long  lines  they  would  hoe  up  the  cane 
or  cut  down  the  straw-colored  stalks?  The 
greater  part  had  betaken  themselves  to  the 
mountains,  and  for  those  remaining  the  hour 
was  too  early,  since  the  negro  is  a  drowsy  crea 
ture,  and  had  now  ample  opportunity  to  indulge 
his  bent.  The  first  blacks  seen  were  a  couple  of 
women  sitting  near  the  roadside  beneath  a  lime, 
not  far  from  a  massive  stone  bridge  spanning 
a  brawling  brook.  M.  Tardiffe  rode  by  with 
out  speaking.  They  were  uncanny,  ill-looking 
objects,  and  he  had  little  hope  of  obtaining 
from  them  the  information  he  desired ;  and  had 


1791—^  Tale  of  San  Domingo.        201 

his  expectations  been  higher,  the  impudent  and 
malicious  way  in  which  they  eyed  him  would 
have  been  sufficient  cause  for  passing  in  silence. 
He  had  crossed  the  bridge,  and  was  still  mus 
ing  upon  their  peculiar  leers  as  boding  no 
good,  when  the  interpretation  came  in  his  being 
set  upon  by  a  gang  of  marauding  blacks  who 
had  been  sleeping  off  a  carouse  in  the  cabins 
attached  to  a  ravaged  plantation  on  his  right. 
Their  wild,  maudlin  cries  were  all  the  more 
startling,  inasmuch  as  the  view  of  the  ruins, 
caught  a  few  moments  before,  had  roused  in  M. 
Tardiffe's  mind  a  train  of  especially  depressing 
reflections.  The  mansion,  that  stood  here,  now 
in  ashes,  was  familiar  to  him.  It  was  a  hand 
some  structure  finely  situated  on  one  of  the 
many  beautiful  thoroughfares  that  radiated 
from  Cape  Francois.  In  his  country  drives  M. 
Tardiffe  had  repeatedly  passed  it.  More  than 
this,  he  personally  knew  the  proprietor,  M.  De 
Villiers — moved  in  the  same  social  circle — and, 
before  his  obnoxious  political  opinions  estranged 
him  from  the  planters,  had,  on  divers  occa 
sions,  been  a  guest  at  its  elegant  soirees.  The 


202        1791— A  Tale  of  San  Domingo. 

smoke  was  still  ascending  from  the  debris,  and 
M.  Tardiffe's  thoughts  were  at  once  absorbed 
in  conjectures  respecting  the  possible  fate  of  the 
occupants.  Had  this  charming  family  escaped? 
(thus  ran  his  musings) — he  had  not  heard  of 
their  being  among  the  refugees  at  the  Cape — 
that  was  ominous — they  may  have  found  a  way 
to  Plaisance,  or  Dondon,  or  Grand  Riviere,  or 
some  other  near  town — or  had  they,  alas!  fallen 
victims  to  the  lust  and  rage  of  the  negroes? 
He  feared  they  had.  The  thought  profoundly 
shocked  him,  and  at  that  moment  of  concen 
tration  on  a  particular,  the  horrors  of  the 
insurrection  stood  out  before  him  with  a  depth 
and  clearness  he  had  not  before  experienced. 

A  period  of  terror,  grand  and  awful  scenes, 
cannot  be  conveyed  fitly  to  the  mind  by  general 
delineations.  A  period  or  scene  of  this  kind 
is  an  aggregation  of  particulars,  and  as  long  as 
these  are  not  accurately  taken  in,  the  impres 
sion  made  by  the  whole  is  inadequate.  But 
let  a  typical  particular  be  sharply  set  forth. 
The  mind  at  once  seizes  it,  multiplies  it, 
and  conceives  in  its  fullness  the  entire  scene. 


—^  Tale  of  San  Domingo.        203 

Caesar,  for  example,  describing,  in  his  Com 
mentaries,  a  certain  battle-field,  is  not  content 
to  rest  in  a  general  description  of  its  uproar 
and  carnage.  He  selects,  with  a  master's  judg 
ment,  an  individual  illustration,  and  represents 
a  father  seeing  his  son  pressed  by  two  German 
warriors.  In  an  agony  of  grief  and  rage  the 
father  rushes  to  his  son's  aid.  Alas !  too  late. 
The  son  falls,  and  the  sword  that  is  with 
drawn  dripping  from  his  body,  pierces  his  own 
heart.  A  few  strokes  from  Caesar's  unrivalled 
pen  portrays  the  battle  scene  in  colors  far 
deeper  than  pages  of  general  description  could 
effect. 

An  impression,  after  this  manner,  was  now 
made  on  M.  Tardiffe's  mind.  The  accounts  of 
the  insurrection  he  had  received,  were  dreadful 
enough.  But  as  he  now  confronted  the  smould 
ering  ruins  of  the  familiar  mansion,  in  whose 
brilliant  halls  he  had  mingled  in  revelry  with 
the  wealth  and  beauty  of  this  splendid  colony, 
and  thought  upon  the  harrowing  fate  that  all 
too  probably  had  befallen  his  quondam  friend 
and  his  charming  family,  the  horrors  of  the 


204        1791— .4  Tale  of  San  Domingo. 

negro  rising  unfolded  with  a  vividness  not  till 
then  realized. 

In  truth  the  spot  was  memorable  as  the 
scene  of  one  of  the  most  heart-rending,  most 
beastly,  most  villainous  massacres  in  the  his 
tory  of  the  outbreak. 

M.  De  Villiers  was  a  wealthy  and  hospitable 
planter,  and  the  head  of  an  interesting  family, 
a  wife  and  five  children  (two  sons  and  three 
daughters).  The  sons  were  under  ten  years 
of  age,  but  the  daughters  were  elegant  young 
ladies,  the  eldest  being  eighteen  years  old,  the 
youngest  scarcely  fourteen. 

In  the  details  of  the  insurrection,  agreed 
upon  in  the  secret  meetings  of  the  slaves,  the 
country  was  divided  off  into  small  districts,  and 
these  placed  severally  under  a  guiding  head. 
The  planters  were  all  singled  out,  and  a  certain 
number  of  blacks,  proportioned  to  the  resis 
tance  that  might  be  expected,  were  assigned, 
under  a  designated  leader,  against  each  spe 
cially.  The  De  Villiers  family  was  one  of  the 
few,  that,  by  a  formal  decree,  were  to  be  spared. 
M.  De  Villiers  was  not  only  the  kindest  of 


1791— ^4  Tale  of  San  Domingo.        205 

masters,  but  had  uniformly  borne  towards  the 
blacks  generally,  an  amiable  demeanor ;  and  all 
this  was  now  remembered  in  his  favor. 

Gautier  was  the  name  of  the  leader  desig 
nated  to  conduct  this  family  in  safety  towards 
the  Cape.  He  was  the  trusted  slave  of  a 
neighboring  planter,  and  in  the  transaction  of 
his  master's  business  with  M.  De  Villiers  (they 
having  close  relations  with  each  other)  was 
often  at  the  house  of  the  latter.  Under  these 
circumstances  they  came  to  know  each  other 
well,  and  a  friendship  sprang  up,  such  as  might 
exist  between  slave  and  planter.  M.  De  Vil 
liers  was  gracious  and  approachable,  and  Gau 
tier  often  consulted  him  in  regard  to  his  own 
private  affairs,  and  was  the  recipient  of  many 
a  little  favor  from  him.  At  his  own  request 
he  had  been  put  at  the  head  of  the  band  to  do 
this  deed  of  mercy. 

For  several  days  vague  rumors  of  an  ap 
proaching  outbreak  had  been  afloat,  originating 
no  one  could  tell  exactly  how — perhaps  in 
something  peculiar  in  the  bearing  of  the  blacks, 
or  in  ominous  expressions  let  fall  in  moments 


206        1791— ^4  Tale  of  San  Domingo. 

of  ill  humor  or  anger.  The  planters  generally 
pooh-poohed  them ;  yet  they  remained  a  new 
subject  of  most  anxious  thought  and  conversa 
tion. 

It  was  in  the  small  hours  of  that  awful  night 
of  August  22nd,  that  foot-falls  on  the  front 
piazza,  followed  immediately  by  loud  raps 
upon  the  door,  roused  M.  De  Villiers.  In 
her  colonies,  as  well  as  in  France,  it  was  a 
period  of  upheaval  and  profound  agitation, 
when  the  least  unusual  night  noise  was  doubly 
startling.  Springing  up  and  drawing  aside 
the  curtain  from  a  southward  window,  which, 
from  the  mansion's  elevated  site,  commanded 
an  extended  prospect,  M.  De  Villiers  stood 
horror-stricken.  The  conflagrations  visible 
over  la  plaine  du  nord  unmistakably  revealed 
the  outbreak.  Entreating  his  wife  to  control 
herself  and  support  the  children,  for  she  was 
now  up  and  by  his  side  and  wringing  her 
hands  in  agony,  M.  De  Villiers  threw  on  his 
nether  garments,  and,  arming  himself,  hastened 
below.  To  a  question  put  from  within  the 
door  as  to  who  the  intruders  were,  the  answer 


1791— ^4  Tale  of  San  Domingo.        207 

came  that  it  was  Gautier  and  his  band,  all 
friends,  who  had  come  to  save  him  and  his. 
A  window  was  now  thrown  up,  and  a  parley 
held  through  the  blinds.  Gautier  told  him  the 
slaves  had  risen  over  all  the  province,  but 
that  M.  De  Villiers  and  his  family,  by  an 
express  order,  were  to  be  spared — that  he  had 
been  assigned  for  his  protection — and  asked 
admittance  till  dawn,  when  he  would  conduct 
his  family  towards  the  Cape  beyond  the  line 
of  danger. 

M.  De  Villiers  was  overjoyed  and  poured 
forth  his  gratitude.  He  reminded  Gautier  of 
the  kindly  feelings  that  had  so  long  existed 
between  them,  and  of  the  many  favors  he  had 
done  him.  The  latter  replied  that  he  was 
sensible  of  all  this — that  M.  De  Villiers' 
humanity  towards  his  slaves  and  good  will 
among  the  blacks  generally  had  now  got  its 
reward — and  that  he  (Gautier),  as  knowing 
him  well  and  being  under  obligations  to  him, 
had  been  given,  at  his  own  request,  the  post  of 
protector. 

While  this  conversation  was  going  on,  an 


208        1791— A  Tale  of  San  Domingo. 

under  current  of  thought  darted  through  M. 
De  Villiers'  mind :  Could  he  resist  with  any 
chance  of  success,  should  he  have  occasion  to 
doubt  Gautier's  sincerity  ?  He  himself  would 
be  powerless,  he  knew,  against  this  armed 
band.  A  pistol  shot  might  rouse  the  planta 
tion.  But  it  would  be  the  signal  for  massacre 
before  any  help  from  that  quarter  could  possi 
bly  reach  him ;  for  the  cabins  and  overseer's 
house  were  two  furlongs  away.  (The  facts,  in 
truth,  were  that  his  own  slaves  were  all  off  on 
the  special  work  assigned  them,  and  the  over 
seer  lay  murdered  in  his  doorway.)  He  must 
trust  Gautier — there  was  no  alternative — and 
he  really  felt,  from  what  he  knew  of  him  and 
from  the  long-continued  kindly  relations  with 
him,  that  he  could  trust  him  safely ;  while  he 
reflected,  moreover,  that  had  Gautier's  inten 
tions  been  hostile,  he  certainly  would  have 
acted  in  a  different  way,  not  rapping,  as  he 
had  done,  for  admittance,  but  either  forcing 
the  house,  or  entering  it  stealthily. 

All  this  thought  was  the  flash  of  an  instant, 
and  before  Gautier  had  ceased  speaking  M.  De 


1791— J.  Tale  of  San  Domingo.        209 

Villiers'  course  was  clear  to  him,  and  a  decision 
made.  Renewing,  therefore,  to  Gautier  and 
those  with  him  the  most  fervent  thanks,  and 
calling  down  blessings  upon  them,  he  said  he 
must  let  his  family  know  the  state  of  affairs 
and  calm  their  fears,  when  he  would  at  once 
return  to  admit  them. 

He  found  his  wife  and  children  all  up  and 
awaiting  him  in  the  utmost  consternation  of 
mind.  The  little  boys  were  crying  bitterly  at 
being  suddenly  roused  from  sleep  and  terrified 
at  some  impending  evil,  which  they  saw  in  the 
manner  of  those  about  them,  but  the  exact 
nature  of  which  they  were  too  young  fully  to 
understand.  The  mother  was  endeavoring  to 
quiet  them  in  vain;  for  her  own  tears  and 
agonized  expression  belied  her  words.  The 
daughters  stood  apart  speechless  with  terror, 
as  pale  as  ghosts,  and  convulsively  grasping- 
each  other's  hand. 

M.  De  Villiers'  information  gave  immense 
relief,  though  all  remained  conscious  of  the  ap 
palling  circumstances  still  surrounding  them. 
The  daughters  especially  were  half  dead  with 
14 


210        1791— A  Tale  of  San  Domingo. 

terror  at  the  thought  of  being  captives  in  the 
hands  of  barbarians.  M.  De  Villiers  spoke 
encouragingly.  They  would  be  saved,  he  said 
—and  all  haste  must  be  made  to  prepare  to 
leave ;  for,  at  the  earliest  dawn,  an  hour  hence, 
a  plantation  wagon  would  bear  them  and  the 
guard  towards  the  Cape. 

He  then  returned  to  admit  the  negroes.  No 
sooner  was  this  done  than  they  demanded  food. 
Madame  De  Villiers,  therefore,  came  down, 
and,  with  the  greatest  alacrity  and  in  the  most 
engaging  way,  spread  before  them,  from  her 
ample  stores,  a  rich  repast.  Gautier  presently 
called  for  wine — a  request  M.  De  Villiers  heard 
with  dismay,  dreading  the  possible  effects. 
Under  the  circumstances,  however,  he  could 
not  refuse,  and  so  wine  was  brought  out. 

Gautier  and  his  men  ate  and  drank  long  and 
freely,  and  Madame  De  Villiers  called  her 
daughters  down,  to  aid  her  in  serving.  A  fatal 
step ;  for  Gautier  was  now  inflamed  by  drink, 
and  at  the  sight  of  these  elegant  young  ladies 
his  animal  instincts  took  fire.  As  they  moved 
about  the  table  his  eyes  followed  them  with  an 


1791— ^4  Tale  of  San  Domingo.        211 

ominous  expression.  In  the  greatest  alarm 
M.  De  Villiers  saw  it,  and  privately  gave  his 
daughters  (who  themselves  were  now  frightened 
by  the  negro's  manner)  a  signal  to  retire.  In 
the  act  of  leaving,  Gautier  bade  them  remain, 
adding  an  insulting  remark.  This  hastened 
the  movement  towards  the  door,  when  Gautier, 
springing  up,  seized  the  arm  of  the  foremost 
— and  instantly  a  ball  from  the  pistol  of  the 
infuriate  father  grazed  the  negro's  ear.  All 
was  now  in  uproar.  Before  M.  De  Villiers 
could  draw  a  second  pistol,  he  was  pressed  to 
the  floor  by  two  of  the  blacks,  and,  by  Gautier 's 
order,  securely  tied.  The  three  daughters 
were  borne  fainting  to  a  room  above,  locked 
in,  and  a  guard  of  two  blacks  stationed  at  the 
door.  The  massacre  then  began.  The  little 
boys  were  stabbed,  as  the  mother,  with  heart 
rending  cries,  threw  herself  upon '  them  to 
receive  herself  a  fatal  thrust.  M.  De  Villiers, 
a  witness  to  these  butcheries,  was  next  des 
patched  in  the  most  cruel  way,  his  arms  and 
legs  being  first  cut  off,  and  then  the  head 
severed  from  the  body.  The  villains  now  made 


212        1791— A  Tale  of  San  Domingo. 

for  the  room  where  the  young  ladies  were  con 
fined.  The  sole  mitigation  to  their  fate  was 
its  unspeakable,  overwhelming  character;  for 
there  is  a  point  towards  suffering's  extreme 
end  where  the  agony  turns  upon  and  partially 
throttles  itself.  The  God  of  pity  hath  so 
tempered  us  that  the  shock  from  the  antici 
pation  of  what  these  poor  creatures  were  about 
to  endure,  brought  a  merciful  degree  of  insensi 
bility.  Prostrate  on  the  floor  more  dead  than 
alive,  the  mortal  cries  from  below  just  reached 
their  swooning  ears,  as  the  features  of  a  confused 
and  ghastly  dream.  We  omit  the  details  of  the 
repeated  outrage,  as  given  by  Franklin.  Death 
at  length  delivered  them.  The  mansion  was 
then  fired,  and  the  smoke  was  still  issuing  from 
the  smouldering  ruins  as  M.  Tardiife  passed 
by.  Had  he  known  the  circumstances  his 
heart  must  have  sunk  within  him. 

To  return  to  the  narrative  of  his  journey : 
M.  Tardiffe  was  one  of  those  nervous  and 
apparently  timid    men  we   often    see,   whose 
impressionable  nature  conjures  up  and  exag 
gerates  the  tokens  of  danger,  but  who,  when 


1791— ,4  Tale  of  San  Domingo.        213 

the  danger  itself  becomes  manifest,  at  once 
stiffen  themselves  resolutely  to  oppose  it ;  and 
he  was  conscious,  as  the  maudlin  blacks  ran 
towards  him  with  wild  cries  of  "  Buckra ! 
Buckra !  "  that  it  was  a  crisis  calling  for  all  his 
resources.  The  blacks  seized  his  bridle  and 
compelled  him  to  dismount,  and  hustled  him 
very  roughly,  paying  no  regard  to  his  assevera 
tions  that  he  was  Louis  Tardiffe  and  a  friend 
to  their  race,  and  were  going  through  his 
pockets  for  valuables  when  the  leader  of  the 
gang,  recognized  by  the  marauders  as  "  Cap'n 
Cato,"  rode  up  on  a  mettlesome  nag. 

"  Cudjoe !  "  spoke  the  captain  in  a  loud, 
blustering  tone  of  command,  addressing  a 
young  fellow  of  stout  build  and  having  the 
plump  appearance  characteristic  of  sugar-mill 
hands  who  have  free  access  to  the  cane-juice, 
"  hold  dis  here  snaffle." 

Cudjoe  at  once  sprang  forward  with  great 
alacrity,  for  military  obedience,  he  had  already 
learned,  must  needs  be  swift.  The  veriest  of 
masters,  howrever,  is  he  who  has  once  been  a 
slave,  and  Captain  Cato,  partly  to  emphasize 


214        1791— A  Tale  of  San  Domingo. 

his  authority,  partly  to  bully  the  white  man, 
thought  fit  immediately  to  add : 

"  D'ye  hear,  boy  ?     You  Guinea  nigger !  " 
"  I  hear,  sah!"  answered  Cudjoe,  as  he  seized 
the  bridle. 

Captain  Cato  dismounted,  and  eyeing  his 
prisoner  all  over  as  he  approached  him,  de 
manded  in  brow-beating  style  who  he  was, 
where  he  was  going,  and  on  what  business. 
The  latter  replied  that  his  name  was  Louis 
Tardiffe,  that  he  was  well  known  as  a  Mend  to 
the  blacks,  and  that  he  was  on  his  way  to 
confer  with  General  Dessalines  on  matters  of 
importance.  At  this  announcement,  delivered 
in  a  manner  at  once  cool  and  remarkably 
polite,  the  captain's  features  relaxed  considera 
bly  ;  for  he  had  frequently  heard  the  name  of 
M.  Tardiffe  mentioned  in  connection  with  the 
asserted  rights  of  the  lower  races.  But  the 
negro  is  suspicious  by  nature,  and  the  captain's 
features  grew  grim  again  as  the  thought  popped 
into  his  head  that  the  prisoner  might  be 
deceiving  him.  He  therefore  said,  looking 
sharply  at  his  man : 


1791—^  Tale  of  San  Domingo.        215 

"  Buckra,  me  sabe  who  M.  Tardiffe  be ;  but 
how  can  me  sabe  ef  you  be  him  ?  " 

Strange  to  tell,  not  until  that  moment  had 
M.  Tardiffe  considered  the  highly  probable 
necessity  he  would  be  under  to  make  good  his 
identity,  and  to  extricate  himself  his  fertility 
of  resource  seized  upon  a  ruse  de  guerre,  the 
success  of  which  depended  upon  the  negro's 
inordinate  vanity.  It  was  fraught  with  hazard, 
yet  not  enough  in  M.  Tardiife's  judgment  to 
balance  the  danger  of  being  held  by  these 
maudlin  marauders.  The  blacks  here  and 
there,  had  picked  up  a  little  learning  and  were 
able  to  read.  M.  Tardiffe,  however,  had  a 
conviction  that  Captain  Cato's  intellectual  pro 
gress  had  not  advanced  so  far ;  yet  he  believed 
the  man's  vanity,  which  he  could  see  had 
been  powerfully  stimulated  by  his  new-born 
authority,  would  not  permit  him  to  deny  the 
accomplishment,  could  its  possession  be  so 
adroitly  insinuated  as  to  allow  him  to  claim  it 
without  reasonable  risk  of  his  deceit's  being 
exposed. 

Drawing  forth,  therefore,  a  chance  letter — 


216        1791—  A  Tale  of  San  Domingo. 

which  proved  to  be  a  brief  business  one  convey 
ing  his  last  London  remittance — and  speaking 
in  a  suave,  engaging  manner,  he  said : 

"  This,  Monsieur  le  Capitaine,  is  my  passport, 
secretly  sent  me  by  General  Dessalines,  and 
which  I  read : 

" '  HEADQUARTERS,  NEAR  PETITE  ANCE. 

n 

" '  This  permits  Monsieur  Louis  Tardiffe  to 
pass  and  repass  my  army  lines.  He  who 
molests  him  shall  answer  before  me. 

" '  [Signed]        GENERAL  DESSALINES.' 

"  But  you  can  see  for  yourself,  Monsieur  le 
Capitaine.  I  presume  you  can  read  a  pass 
port." 

The  captain  took  the  proffered  letter,  and 
scrutinized  it  very  carefully  with  his  maudlin, 
stupid  eyes;  but  the  examination  was  made, 
as  M.  Tardiffe  observed,  with  the  paper  upside 
down,  and  the  latter  felt  greatly  relieved  at 
seeing  his  surmise  justified  and  the  stratagem 
succeeding.  Handing  back  the  paper,  he 
stepped  aside  with  his  men,  and  they  whis- 


1791—^1  Tale  of  San  Domingo.        217 

pered  together  for  some  moments,  he  informing 
them,  with  many  gesticulations,  that  the  man 
was  not  only  M.  Tardiffe,  the  "  nigger's  friend," 
but  that  he  bore  a  passport  from  General  Dessa- 
lines,  and  that  no  harm  or  hindrance  must 
come  to  him.  In  truth,  the  wily  negro  had  a 
thought — though  the  smooth  and  confident  way 
in  which  M.  Tardiffe  had  read  the  paper  made 
a  decided  impression — that  the  alleged  pass 
port  might  be  a  deception.  There  was,  how 
ever,  he  felt,  at  least  a  probability  of  its  being 
genuine,  in  which  event  Dessalines'  threat  was 
one  to  tremble  at.  So  Captain  Cato  made  up 
his  mind  to  allow  M.  Tardiffe  to  pass,  to  which 
conclusion  he  was  materially  assisted  by  know 
ing  that  the  prisoner  had  about  him  nothing 
valuable.  Returning,  therefore,  to  where  he 
had  left  M.  Tardiffe  standing,  he  grasped  him 
by  the  hand,  and  told  him  he  was  glad  all  over 
to  know  him.  In  his  rude  style  he  apologized 
for  the  roughness  of  his  men,  and  said  there 
would  be  no  further  trouble,  as  the  way  was 
clear  to  an  outpost  "  better'n  a  league  ahead," 


218        1791— A  Tale  of  San  Domingo. 

and  that  thence  he  would  be  safely  escorted  to 
the  general's  presence. 

M.  Tardiffe  returned  thanks  in  suitable  terms, 
and  followed  with  searching  inquiries  as  to  the 
fate  of  the  captives,  yet  could  gain  nothing 
definite.  To  a  special  question  the  captain 
replied  that  he  had  not  heard  of  their  having 
been  shot.  At  parting  the  captain  drew  forth 
an  ample  flask  of  taffia  and  offered  it  to  our 
traveller,  who  saluted  the  bottle  with  apparent 
good-will.  Shaking  hands  with  Captain  Cato, 
and  bowing  politely  to  his  men,  now  officiously 
friendly,  M.  Tardiffe  remounted  his  gig  and 
rode  forward,  with  a  salvo  of  yells  from  the 
blacks.  His  cogitations  were  serious,  as  he 
now  saw  himself  compelled  to  go  on  to  the 
negro  camp.  He  had  never  for  a  moment 
contemplated  meeting  Dessalines.  And  what 
if  Henry  Pascal  should  be  alive?  To  inter 
cede  for  him  had  been  equally  far  from  his 
thoughts.  It  became  necessary,  therefore,  to 
devise  some  reason  for  the  interview,  and  a 
plausible  one  quickly  suggested  itself  in  the 
desire  to  shield  certain  friends  at  Dondon, 


1791—^1  Tale  of  San  Domingo.        219 

which  town  Dessalines,  it  was  currently  re 
ported,  was  preparing  to  assault.  He  soon 
reached  the  outpost.  The  officer  in  command 
was  a  young  mulatto  lieutenant,  who  at  once 
recognized  and  warmly  greeted  him.  He  had 
often  seen  him  at  the  Cape,  where  the  latter, 
particularly  after  his  pronounced  advocacy  of 
enfranchisement,  was  a  conspicuous  object  to 
the  colored  races.  His  recognition  and  the 
cordiality  of  the  reception  were  most  gratifying 
to  M.  Tardiffe,  and  he  concluded  to  accept  an 
invitation  to  take  refreshments  and  rest  himself 
and  beast  over  the  noon — a  step  to  which  he 
was  the  more  inclined  as  rain  had  just  com 
menced  falling.  The  inquiry  as  to  the  captives 
was  here  renewed,  and  our  traveller  received 
the  astounding  information  that  not  only  had 
they  not  been  shot,  but  that  Dessalines,  being 
in  want  of  funds  (the  negro  insurgents  having 
secreted  for  themselves  by  far  the  larger  part 
of  the  money  found),  was  strongly  inclined  to 
hold  them  at  a  ransom. 

Prior  to  leaving  he  obtained  a  letter  of  intro 
duction  to  the  chief,  and  got  some  insights  into 


220        1791—^  Tale  of  San  Domingo. 

his  character  useful  in  the  coming  interview. 
The  lieutenant  declared  Dessalines  would  be 
delighted  at  seeing  him,  and  would  accord  him 
a  royal  welcome ;  that  he  needed  at  this  junc 
ture  just  such  a  friend  to  indicate  to  him  the 
pulse  of  the  colony,  and  take  counsel  with  in 
regard  to  future  plans.  He  said,  too,  that  since 
the  victory  the  lower  order  of  negroes  fairly 
worshipped  him,  that  all  regarded  him  as  being 
invincible,  and  that  he  was  really  a  man  of 
superior  military  sagacity  and  indisputably 
brave.  A  squad  of  men  were  detailed  to 
accompany  M.  Tardiffe  through  the  lines,  and 
the  latter,  again  remounting  the  gig,  proceeded 
on  his  way,  protecting  himself  as  well  as  he 
could  against  a  steady  fall  of  rain. 

"  Well !  well !  "  he  inwardly  ejaculated, 
"  Henry  Pascal  alive,  and  possibly  to  be  ran 
somed  !  That  does  not  suit  me  at  all — it  does 
not"  he  added,  with  an  emphatic  blow  in  the 
air,  as  if  he  were  hitting  his  rival.  "  Suppose 
I  should  succeed  in  rescuing  him ;  one  sight  of 
her  lover  would  turn  mademoiselle's  head,  and 
she  would  find  some  way  to  twist  out  of  her 


1791—^4  Tale  of  San  Domingo.        221 

promise.  And  even  were  she  disposed  to 
abide  by  it,  would  not  an  ugly  settlement  with 
Henry  Pascal  be  inevitable? " 

He  knew  the  latter  was  a  determined  man  and 
dangerous  when  roused,  and  that  the  attempt 
to  wrest  Elmilie  Tourner  from  him  would  ren 
der  him  furious.  And  though  M.  Tardiffe,  as 
has  been  mentioned  in  these  pages,  was  himself 
not  wanting  in  courage,  yet,  under  all  the 
circumstances,  he  shrank  from  the  thought  of 
meeting  the  wrath  of  Henry  Pascal.  It  was  a 
subject  of  grave  import,  and  he  dwelt  long 
upon  it.  Some  conclusion,  however,  was  at 
length  reached,  for  a  couple  of  miles,  perhaps, 
had  been  made  when  his  manner  suddenly 
changed.  He  raised  his  head,  cheered  his 
horse,  and  began  to  inspect  the  surroundings. 
The  black  camp  was  evidently  near;  for  the 
strategic  points  were  all  well  guarded,  and  on 
every  hand  negro  soldiers  were  multiplying, 
though  the  weather  had  driven  great  numbers 
to  shelter.  The  rain  increasing,  the  horses 
were  urged,  and  the  party  soon  reached  a 
cross-roads  occupied  by  a  large  negro  force. 


222        1791—^1  Tale  of  San  Domingo. 

Here  M.  Tardiffe  deemed  it  advisable  to  remain 
till  he  could  receive  an  answer  to  the  letter  of 
introduction.  This  was  forthwith  despatched 
to  Dessalines'  headquarters,  at  the  residence  of 
a  wealthy  mulatto  a  mile  away.  Within  a 
half-hour  the  answer  came,  exceedingly  polite 
and  cordial,  and  M.  Tardiffe,  greatly  raised  in 
spirits,  immediately  sought  the  presence  of  the 
negro  chief. 


CHAPTER  XI. 
THE   INTERVIEW. 

[HE  anticipation  of  the  lieutenant  in 
regard  to  the  manner  in  which  M. 
Tardiffe  would  be  received  were 
fully  realized.  Dessalines'  language  was  ex 
cessively  coarse  and  vulgar,  and  his  manner 
habitually  bullying,  and  it  was  not  his  wont 
before  any  one  to  place  restraint  upon  himself 
in  respect  either  to  speech  or  passion.  But 
M.  Tardiffe,  whose  keen  eyes  were  wide  open 
to  indications,  could  see  that  the  marked  cordi 
ality  was  genuine,  and  all  fears  for  himself 
were  dismissed.  He  at  once  proceeded  to 
business,  and  informed  Dessalines  of  the  object 
of  his  mission — that  he  had  dear  relations  in 
Dondon,  and  having  heard  of  the  chief's  inten 
tion  immediately  to  assault  the  town,  and  not 

223 


224        1791—^  Tale  of  San  Domingo. 

doubting  the  success  of  the  attempt,  he  had 
risked  the  dangers  of  the  road  in  seeking  him 
to  intercede  in  their  behalf,  and  he  expressed 
the  hope  that  what  he  had  done  and  suffered 
for  the  blacks  would  win  this  favor. 

Dessalines  promptly  replied  that  M.  Tar- 
diffe's  wish  was  a  law,  and  asked  for  the  names 
of  his  friends  and  location  of  their  residences, 
declaring,  with  a  great  oath,  that  not  a  hair  of 
any  of  them  should  be  touched.  The  memo 
randum  was  made  out  and  presented,  when 
Dessalines  observed,  in  his  vernacular — a  very 
curious  compound  of  profanity  and  coarseness, 
oddity  of  expression,  and  affected  smartness 
— that  M.  Tardiffe's  visit  was  well-timed ;  that 
he  had  upon  his  hands  a  number  of  prisoners, 
and  being  in  need  of  shiners,  for  so  he  denomi 
nated  the  sinews  of  war,  he  was  half  in  mind 
to  put  them  at  a  ransom,  and  hoped  he  could 
obtain  from  M.  Tardiffe  information  in  respect 
to  their  ability. 

"Blow  me,  monsieur,"  he  remarked,  giving 
expression  to  his  sense  of  their  marketable 
worth,  "  if  they  an't  mostly  officers — a  rum  lot, 


1791— A  Tale  of  San  Domingo.        225 

as  Old  Harry  said  'bout  the  ten  Commandments 
— and  I  want  'em  to  bring  me  ready  money." 

M.  Tardiffe  replied,  expressing  regrets  that 
his  knowledge  in  this  direction  was  so  scant, 
that  round  sums  could  no  doubt  be  had  for  any 
officers  from  the  arsenal  or  ships,  that  he  was 
acquainted  with  the  circumstances  of  only  one 
of  the  prisoners,  M.  Henry  Pascal,  and  that 
he  knew  him  now  to  be  as  poor  as  a  barber's 
cat.  To  Dessalines'  answer  that  no  such  name 
was  upon  his  list  he  replied  that  Henry  Pascal's 
capture  was  the  talk  of  the  Cape,  whereupon 
Dessalines,  producing  the  list,  handed  it  to  him 
with  the  remark  that  he  could  see  for  himself. 

He  took  the  paper,  and  having  rapidly 
glanced  over  it,  stood  for  a  moment  abstracted 
and  with  a  puzzled  air.  A  second  look  was 
more  carefully  made,  and  reaching  a  certain 
name  he  paused  to  scan  it.  The  result  was 
satisfactory ;  for  almost  immediately  he  ex 
claimed,  as  a  smile  played  over  his  features : 

"  I  have  it,  Monsieur  le  General,  though  it's 
under  disguise.  It's  given  here  as  Henry 
Beattie,  but  it  must  be  Henry  Pascal.  Beattie 
15 


226        1791— A  Tale  of  San  Domingo. 

was  the  name  of  his  mother,  an  Englishwoman," 
he  added. 

Madame  Pascal  was  of  English  blood  only 
in  so  far  as  she  was  an  American.  But  M. 
Tardiffe  had  a  purpose  in  making  the  false 
statement,  and  the  expression  of  his  eye 
deepened  on  Dessalines  to  note  the  effect  of 
this  last  word. 

"English,  is  he,  confound  him!"  growled 
out  the  chief.  "I'll  be  shot  if  that  don't 
kinder  rile  me."  * 

"I  beg  pardon,  Monsieur  le  General,  half- 
English  only,"  put  in  M.  Tardiffe,  to  keep  the 
English  thought  well  before  the  mind  of  Dessa 
lines  and  nurse  his  rising  wrath. 

"  That's  nuf  to  git  my  hump  up,"  said  Dessa 
lines.  "  What  in  the  dickens,  anyhow,  has  he 
gone  and  took  his  mammy's  name  for  ?  " 

"  I  can't  imagine ;  but  it  must  be  he ;  he  is 
just  now  on  a  visit  from  Jamaica,  his  present 
home,"  replied  M.  Tardiffe,  cutting  another 

*  Dessalines'  peculiar  speech,  for  the  most  part,  cannot  be  literally  rendered 
into  our  tongue.  The  author  has  endeavored  to  give  the  best  possible  English 
equivalent.  The  brigand's  drill-sergeant  was  a  marine,  a  deserter  from  a  French 
man-of-war,  who  had  formerly  been  a  professional  boxer,  and  from  him  Dessalines 
had  learnt  a  slang  vocabulary. 


1791—^1  Tale  of  San  Domingo.        227 

significant  glance  at  Dessalines.  To  depict 
the  rage  which  upon  this  announcement  shot 
from  the  eyes  of  the  brigand  and  expressed 
itself  on  his  swelling  features  would  be  impos 
sible.  Springing  from  his  seat,  with  loud  slaps 
on  the  thigh,  as  was  his  wont  when  unusually 
aroused,  he  skipped  about  the  room  under 
intense  excitement,  crying  out:  "Kickeraboo! 
kickeraboo !  "  *  Then  stopping  suddenly  before 
his  guest,  he  continued,  wildly  gesticulating. 

"  I'll  cook  the  buster's  goose.  I'm  jiggered 
if  he  sha'n't  dance  on  air,  and  that  in  a  jiffy." 

M.  Tardiffe  had  often  had  accounts  of  Dessa 
lines,  and  was  prepared  for  outbursts  of  passion ; 
but  the  suddenness,  the  degree,  and  the  eccen 
tricity  of  his  fury  were  astonishing,  and  in  the 
"  tiger  "  before  him  he  recognized  the  justness 
of  the  title  that  fame  had  given  this  notorious 
outlaw.  He  saw,  too,  his  own  private  scheme 
in  the  course  of  a  perfect  fulfilment.  Feigning 
surprise,  however,  at  Dessalines'  deadly  pur 
pose,  he  said : 

* 

*  A  term  used  by  West  India  negroes  and  meaning  "dead,"  being  a  corruption 
of  "kick  the  bucket." 


228        1791— A  Tale  of  San  Domingo. 

"  Why,  Monsieur  le  General,  I  thought  you 
were  meditating  a  ransom !  " 

"Haven't  you  seed  my  proclamation?  I'll 
act  on  the  square  with  the  Frenchers;  but 
these  English  furriners  from  Jamaica,  who 
come  over  to  stick  a  finger  in  the  pie  and  help 
the  Frenchers  put  bracelets  on  us  niggers,  I'll 
not  let  up,  I  tell  ye,  on  nary  one  I  catch.  Is 
the  chap,"  asked  the  chief,  as  a  turn  of  thought 
struck  him,  "kin  to  the  old  one  at  Sans  Souci?" 

"Yes,  they  are  the  Sans  Souci  Pascals," 
replied  M.  Tardiffe,  mentioning  some  circum 
stances  in  regard  to  the  family. 

"  He's  a  gone  goner.  I'll  court-martial 
Henry  Seattle  slap-dash,"  said  the  chief,  signi 
ficantly  emphasizing  "  Beattie."  "  We'll  re 
ceive  the  codger  in  full  rig,  and  you  be  there  to 
see  how  I'll  bamboozle  him  and  slip  into  him. 
I'll  flummux  him  as  clean  as  a  whistle,"  con 
tinued  Dessalines,  as  a  twinkle  in  his  eyes  at 
the  trick  he  was  concocting  replaced  their 
angry  fire. 

This  .precipitated  a  grave  dilemma.  Should 
anything  befall  Henry  Pascal,  M.  Tardiffe 


1791— A  Tale  of  San  Domingo.        229 

realized  it  would  never  do  to  have  a  suspicion 
exist  that  at  the  time  he  was  in  the  camp  ;  and 
on  the  other  hand,  Dessalines  had  been  drink 
ing  freely,  and  was  in  a  state  in  which  it  was 
sound  policy  not  to  cross  his  wishes  in  the  most 
trivial  particular.  He  therefore,  in  his  insinu 
ating  way,  represented  that  as  he  was  well 
known  to  Henry  Pascal  and  to  his  family,  he 
hoped,  if  the  chief  found  cause  to  take  any  step 
against  the  prisoner,  that  the  latter  should 
neither  see  him  nor  hear  of  his  presence,  nor 
any  one  learn  that  he  had  given  information 
concerning  him. 

"  N.  C. — nuf  ced,"  responded  Dessalines  in 
his  remarkable  lingo.  "  Come,  I'll  give  yer  a 
pig's  whisper."  And  suiting  the  action  to  the 
word,  he  added,  speaking  close  to  M.  Tardiffe's 
ear,  "I'll  not  let  on,  but  you  are  bound  to  see 
the  fun.  We'll  scrouge  you  in  a  corner  where 
your  peepers  can  git  him  but  his'n  can't  git 
you." 

M.  Tardiffe  saw  the  necessity  of  yielding  to 
the  wish  of  Dessalines,  who,  having  conceived 
a  plan  for  entrapping  Henry  Pascal,  was 


230        1791— A  Tale  of  San  Domingo. 

delighted  with  an  opening  for  at  once  gratify 
ing  his  brutal  cunning  and  displaying  his  acute- 
ness  before  his  distinguished  guest.  He  there 
fore  made  a  virtue  of  the  inevitable,  and  readily 
acquiesced  in  the  proposed  arrangement  as  to 
his  presence.  At  the  same  time  he  took  the 
precaution  to  ask  that  his  name  should  not  be 
known  in  the  camp,  and  pointedly  solicited 
Dessalines  to  be  sure  of  so  placing  him  as  to  be 
invisible  to  the  prisoner,  requesting  besides  an 
opportunity  to  make  some  necessary  personal 
preparations,  the  ride  and  the  rain  having  in 
no  slight  degree  disordered  his  dress. 

"Right  you  are,"  replied  Dessalines;  "and 
after  yer  drive  I'll  bet  you're  needing  inside 
lining,  and  something  damp  wouldn't  be  away. 
I've  got  golopshus  articles,  to  be  sure;  bang 
up  stuff,  monsieur,  bang  up,  I  tell  ye;  first 
class,  letter  A,  No.  1.  Here,  you  Sampson, 
you,"  he  continued,  calling  out  vigorously  to 
an  attendant,  a  squat,  dapper-looking  fellow  in 
gray  fearnought  suit,  with  his  wool  combed  up 
before  in  queer  fashion,  who  stood  in  waiting 
outside  the  doorway,  "git  some  belly -timber 


1791— ^4  Tale  of  San  Domingo.        231 

for  monsieur,  and  a  swig  of  '  0-be-joyful '  " — 
the  latter  being  Dessalines'  expression  for  his 
favorite  rum.  Sampson,  who  had  but  lately 
entered  the  special  service  of  the  chief  and  was 
unfamiliar  with  all  of  his  gastronomical  allu 
sions,  stood  perplexed  as  to  what  was  signified 
by  " 0-be-joyful,"  when  Dessalines  broke  out: 

"Why  don't  you  leg  it,  you  lazy  cuss? 
Blame  me,  if  you  wouldn't  lay  down  yer  mus 
ket  for  to  sneeze." 

Sampson  explained  his  hesitation  by  saying, 
with  the  profoundest  servility,  that  he  did  not 
quite  understand  the  order. 

"  Od  drot  a  chucklehead !  Meat  and  drink, 
then,  for  monsieur,  and  the  best  we've  got,  and 
plenty  of  it,  and  in  a  crack,  or  I'll  sock  into 
you,"  rattled  off  Dessalines,  menacingly  shak 
ing  his  brawny  arm.  Sampson  vanished  before 
the  redoubtable  fist,  of  whose  vigor  the  chief's 
subordinates  had  not  unfrequent  experience ; 
and  another  attendant  having  been  called,  and 
instructions  given  to  provide  apartments  for 
"  monsieur,"  and  assist  in  his  toilet,  Dessalines 
hastened  out  to  arrange  for  the  court-martial. 


CHAPTER  XII. 

THE   COURT-MAKTIAL. 

|HE  house  occupied  as  headquarters 
for  the  black  army  was  a  stone  struc 
ture,  with  ample  piazzas  fronting 
north  and  south,  and  latticed  in,  as  usual,  on 
their  east  and  west  sides.  At  a  table  in  its 
best  and  largest  room,  and  an  hour  subsequent 
to  the  events  recorded  at  the  close  of  the  last 
chapter,  sat  Dessalines,  with  his  secretary  and 
four  of  his  chief  officers,  being  the  military 
board  for  the  trial  of  Henry  Pascal,  who  had 
just  been  brought  in  under  a  guard  of  soldiers. 
Dessalines  alone  wore  his  military  hat.  As 
a  token  of  distinction  it  was  unnecessary,  for 
this  celebrated  negro  possessed  an  individuality 
amply  sufficient  to  distinguish  him  without 
adventitious  aids.  The  first  impression  he  pro- 
232 


1791— A  Tale  of  San  Domingo.        233 

duced  was  perhaps  that  of  physical  power. 
Somewhat  below  the  medium  height,  he  yet 
showed  great  breadth  and  depth  of  chest,  his 
whole  aspect  being  suggestive  of  the  personal 
strength  for  which  he  was  remarkable.  His 
features  presented  some  unexpected  contrasts. 
The  lower  portion  of  his  face  was  good,  singu 
larly  so  for  an  African.  There  was  none  of 
that  disproportionate  and  peculiar  development 
of  the  inferior  jaw  often  observed  in  the  negro, 
in  which  the  angle  protrudes  backwards  and 
the  mouth  is  thrust  forward,  giving  the  lower 
face  a  retreating  chin  and  an  apish  aspect. 
The  chin,  on  the  contrary,  was  relatively  small 
and  symmetrical  in  all  its  lines,  the  direction 
and  curve  of  what  anatomists  call  its  symphysis 
being  perfect — the  chin  rather  of  refinement 
and  delicacy. 

These  favorable  impressions,  however,  were 
entirely  overborne  by  the  truculent  and  repul 
sive  features  that  formed  the  residue  of  the 
face.  The  forehead  was  low,  round  and  bulg 
ing  ;  anger  gleamed  in  the  eyes,  ill-nature  sat 
upon  the  mouth.  The  nose,  of  true  African 


234        1791— A  Tale  of  San  Domingo. 

type,  was  small  and  flat,  and  supported  what 
limners  call  the  "lines  of  malignity,"  which, 
making  out  from  the  base  of  the  spreading 
nasal  wings,  terminated  at  the  commissure  of 
the  mouth,  and  curved  the  right  upper  lip  in 
such  a  way  that  the  teeth  on  that  side  were 
just  visible.  The  brows  were  heavy  and  con 
tracted,  the  eyeballs  prominent,  standing  out 
in  fatness  and  lust,  with  obtrusive  whites,  and 
a  slight  obliquity  in  the  visual  axes.  A  life  of 
perpetual  danger  and  the  necessity  of  being 
always  on  guard  accounted  for  the  sudden 
starts  of  the  eyes,  which  looked  blood-shot  and 
angry  from  these  abrupt  and  incessant  strain 
ings  ;  and  over  the  entire  face  a  habit  of  deep 
drinking  gave  unmistakable  manifestations. 
The  temple  veins  were  turgid,  the  muscles 
uniformly  swollen  and  puffed  up,  and  it  was 
solely  for  the  lack  of  a  white  skin  that  grog- 
blossoms  were  not  more  conspicuous.  His 
uniform,  a  matter  upon  which  the  inordinate 
vanity  of  this  brigand  laid  special  stress,  was 
a  kind  of  blue  jacket  with  eight  rows  of  lace 
on  the  sleeves,  a  full  red  cape  falling  over  the 


1791— .4  Tale  of  San  Domingo.        235 

shoulders,  red  cuffs  and  brilliant  epaulettes, 
scarlet  waistcoat  and  pantaloons,  with  half- 
boots,  round  hat  with  red  feather,  and  a  cutlass 
of  unusual  size  and  weight. 

Over  against  the  chief  stood  the  prisoner, 
Henry  Pascal.  To  follow  up  his  fortunes 
subsequent  to  the  battle  :  The  night  succeeding 
that  disaster  to  the  French  arms  a  copy  of 
Dessalines'  proclamation,  by  some  means,  no 
one  could  tell  how,  found  its  way  into  the 
prisoners'  room.  Next  morning  it  was  eagerly 
read,  by  none  so  eagerly  as  by  Henry  Pascal, 
who  saw  in  it  features  having  a  special  interest 
for  himself.  It  was  not  simply  the  closing 
paragraph,  wherein  Dessalines  expressed  his 
bloody  purpose  in  reference  to  any  English 
from  Jamaica  falling  into  his  hands,  but  that 
these  words  were  underscored.  The  lines  had 
not  been  very  clearly  made,  but  at  once  caught 
his  eye.  He  was  in  no  sense  an  Englishman, 
except  that  he  spoke  the  language  fluently. 
As  for  Jamaica,  however,  he  had  but  recently 
returned  from  an  extended  visit  to  that  island, 
and  it  was  currently  believed,  he  knew,  that 


236        1791— A  Tale  of  San  Domingo. 

he  had  removed  thither.  These  circumstances, 
the  rather  remote  personal  relation  of  which  to 
the  proclamation  he  might  otherwise  have 
overlooked,  the  underscoring  brought  home  to 
him,  and  their  significance  grew  as  he  dwelt 
on  them  and  on  the  capricious  character  of 
Dessalines. 

While  musing  thus,  with  his  eye  still  upon 
the  passage,  he  suddenly  perceived  with  great 
astonishment  what  he  thought  must  be  a  per 
sonal  allusion  in  the  underscoring  itself;  for  it 
stood  in  a  succession  of  short  dashes,  made  by 
skips  of  the  pencil  point,  and  these  were  eleven 
in  number,  answering  to  the  letters  of  his  name. 
And  he  even  fancied  he  saw  a  wider  space 
between  the  dashes  separating  the  two  parts  of 
the  name.  Of  this  he  could  not  be  certain, 
since  the  pencil,  where  it  jumped  the  surface, 
shaded  off  the  lines,  and  the  paper  at  this 
point  had  become  rubbed  by  being  folded,  and 
the  tracings  partly  worn.  Still,  there  was 
enough  to  amaze  and  greatly  interest  him. 
Could  it  be  a  mere  coincidence?  It  is  true 
his  full  name  was  Henry  Beattie  Pascal,  but 


1791— A  Tale  of  San  Domingo.        237 

he  was  commonly  known  as  Henry  Pascal 
simply.  Besides,  of  all  the  prisoners  he  alone 
could  be  considered  as  coming  in  any  degree 
within  the  scope  of  Dessalines'  threat,  and 
altogether  he  could  not  resist  the  conviction 
that  the  proclamation  was  meant  for  himself 
as  a  warning  from  some  friendly  hand. 

Strange  as  it  may  seem,  this  circumstance, 
though  it  revealed  new  and  exceptional  peril, 
was  a  source  of  real  comfort.  It  was  a  token 
of  sympathy  all  unlocked  for — a  rift,  however 
slight,  in  the  black,  angry  cloud  that  hung  over 
him.  From  the  short  and  fitful  sleep  to 
which  exhausted  nature  had  at  last  yielded 
the  prisoners  awoke  that  Friday  morning 
with  renewal  of  the  most  dreadful  forebodings. 
What  mercy  could  be  hoped  for  from  these 
cruel,  red-handed,  infuriate  blacks,  in  the  hour, 
too,  of  triumph,  and  frantic  over  freedom  to 
settle  with  the  whites  for  the  treasured-up 
wrongs  of  years?  The  prospect  was  utterly 
despairing,  and  the  prisoners  expected  momen 
tarily  to  be  ordered  out  to  execution.  It  was 
very  gratifying,  therefore,  to  Henry  Pascal's 


238        1791— A  Tale  of  San  Domingo. 

feelings,  even  for  humanity's  sake,  to  note  a 
sign  of  sympathy  emerging  from  this  fren 
zied,  malevolent  mass ;  to  feel  that  among  these 
blacks  one  heart  at  least  was  solicitous  for  him, 
that  one  hand  had  been  raised,  at  least  to  this 
degree,  in  his  behalf.  After  reading  Dessalines' 
bloody  proclamation  the  thought  came  over  him 
like  a  warm  message  of  love  and  peace,  and 
round  it  a  shadowy  hope  began  to  play — the 
reflection,  perhaps,  that  possibly  the  same  hand 
might  be  raised  again  in  some  more  effectual 
way. 

As  to  what  course  to  pursue  in  order  to 
avoid  this  new  danger  he  was  uncertain.  Per 
haps  it  was  meant  (so  his  thoughts  ran)  that  he 
should  be  ready  with  explanations  against  any 
questions  which  might  arise  regarding  his 
rumored  residence  in  Jamaica,  or  perhaps  it 
might  be  better  to  assume  another  name.  His 
business  as  a  fruit-buyer  often  carried  him  to 
the  plantations,  and  he  must  be  known  person 
ally,  he  thought,  to  many  in  the  black  army ; 
nevertheless,  to  disguise  his  name  would  lessen 
the  chances  of  discovery.  He  was  unable  to 


1791—^4  Tale  of  San  Domingo.        239 

reach  a  satisfactory  decision,  and  deeming  it 
best  to  await  the  issue  of  events  and  shape  his 
conduct  accordingly,  he  turned  to  the  considera 
tion  of  who  this  friendly  hand  might  be. 
Instinctively  his  thoughts  were  directed  to 
wards  Jacque  Beattie.  That  the  latter  was  in 
Dessalines7  army  he  considered  highly  proba 
ble;  and  whose  image,  under  all  the  circum 
stances,  would  a  thought  of  succor  from  the 
blacks  so  naturally  call  up  as  that  of  this 
faithful  slave  ?  Against  Jacque's  identity,  how 
ever,  with  the  "  friendly  hand "  lay,  upon  the 
whole,  a  large  balance  of  probability.  So 
argued  Henry  Pascal.  For,  supposing  it 
altogether  certain  he  was  in  the  black  army, 
there  was  the  merest  chance  he  should  know 
that  his  young  master  was  among  the  captives. 
But  Jacque  was  not  the  only  one,  he  reflected, 
from  whom  such  a  warning  might  have  come. 
Throughout  the  province  his  father  was  well 
known  as  a  just  and  humane  master — a  charac 
ter  all  the  more  conspicuous  for  the  excessively 
severe  and  capricious  conduct  which  the  plant 
ers  often  exhibited  towards  their  slaves.  Henry 


240        1791—^4  Tale  of  San  Domingo. 

Pascal,  too,  was  himself  a  generous  soul,  with  a 
gracious,  attractive  bearing,  and  had  won  the 
general  favor  of  the  blacks,  with  whom  (par 
ticularly  with  the  leaders  among  them)  his 
business  trips  to  the  plantations  had  brought 
him  into  not  unfrequent  intercourse.  Towards 
his  family,  therefore,  and  himself  especially, 
he  felt  that  there  must  be  those  in  the  black 
army  who  were  well  disposed,  and  from  whom, 
in  return  for  some  of  his  many  little  kindnesses, 
this  hint  may  have  emanated. 

Such  were  his  thoughts  that  Friday  morning 
when,  at  an  early  hour,  Chantalle,  Dessalines' 
private  secretary,  entered  the  prisoners'  apart 
ment  to  obtain  a  list  of  the  names.  A  decision 
as  to  his  own  at  once  became  necessary,  and  he 
gave  his  name  as  Henry  Beattie.  It  was  the 
thing  to  be  done — so  he  thought  at  the  time. 

These  personal  reflections,  which  shot  through 
the  prisoner's  mind  upon  the  discovery  of  the 
underscorings,  interrupted  but  for  a  few  brief 
moments  the  course  of  thoughts  that  had  been 
torturing  him  ever  since  his  capture.  Loss  of 
sleep,  a  wounded  temple,  and  the  vitiated  air 


1791— ^4  Tale  of  San  Domingo.        241 

of  an  overcrowded  apartment  had  brought  on  a 
raging  headache ;  physical  discomfort,  however, 
was  scarcely  regarded  under  a  dreadful  pres 
sure  of  thoughts  from  without.  Having  no 
hope  for  himself,  with  what  agony  did  he  think 
of  his  father,  old  and  feeble,  and  utterly 
stripped  of  the  fortune  to  whose  ease  and 
delicate  delights  his  life  had  been  habituated ! 
Why  had  they  not  gone  to  Jamaica — as  they 
had  had  thoughts  of  doing — before  all  this? 
Oh !  that  he  had  taken  his  father  thither  when 
the  first  muttering  of  the  storm  was  heard ! 
His  filial  heart  sank  within  him,  borne  down 
as  by  an  awful  weight.  And  Emilie  Tourner, 
dear  Emilie  Tourner,  bereft,  too,  of  fortune, 
and  still  prostrate  within  the  shadow  of  the 
ghastly  dangers  she  had  just  escaped,  what 
new  trials  must  she  bear!  These  harrowing 
thoughts,  the  dark  impressions  of  which  his 
bodily  discomfort  tended  strongly  to  deepen, 
became  too  much  even  for  the  resolute  spirit  of 
Henry  Pascal.  His  firmness  gave  way  to  the 
pressure,  and  for  a  moment  he  bowed  his  head 
and  wept. 
16 


242        1791— A  Tale  of  San  Domingo. 

Blessed  gift  of  tears,  for  saint  and  sinner 
blest !  On  the  believer's  soul,  when  in  its  arid 
moods  and  spiritual  motion  forced  and  dull, 
they  fall  like  Hermon's  dew  and  arouse  the 
tenderest  and  sweetest  intercourse  with  God. 
And  for  the  natural  man  these  tears  avail. 
They  signify  some  lessening  of  the  strain,  some 
lifting  of  the  cloud,  and  turn  to  view  the 
brighter  side  of  things,  as  through  the  humid 
eye  a  bow  of  hope  is  thrown  upon  the  visual 
nerve. 

Henry  Pascal  experienced  the  relief  which 
naturally  follows  a  flow  of  tears,  and  began 
to  take  a  little  courage,  thinking  that  possibly 
his  fortunes  might  not  be  altogether  desperate. 
In  the  thick  darkness  this  warning  he  had 
received  was  the  solitary  ray  round  which  hope 
would  now  and  then  rally.  The  proclamation, 
which  he  had  himself  retained,  he  drew  forth 
for  the  oft-repeated  time,  and  scrutinized  again 
the  underscorings.  Imagination  is  a  potent 
factor  in  practical  affairs,  and  under  its  influ 
ence  uncertainties  are  prone  to  beget  magni 
tudes.  Possibly  this  friend,  he  would  say  to 


1791— ,4  Tale  of  San  Domingo.        243 

himself,  may  be  some  one  near  Dessalines  and 
able  to  do  a  good  turn.  And  he  would  dwell 
on  this  thought,  recalling  the  prominent  blacks 
whom  he  knew  and  could  remember  having 
befriended,  and  budding  hope  would  color  his 
imaginings,  and  a  prospect  of  deliverance  sud 
denly  sweep  his  spirit  like  a  breath  of  fresh  air. 
From  such  fancyings  he  would  rouse  himself 
and  treat  them  as  extravagances.  The  train  of 
thought,  however,  would  return  upon  him 
again  and  again,  and  in  one  of  these  reveries 
he  was  absorbed  when  a  summons  came  to 
appear  before  Dessalines. 

A  great  sensation  among  the  prisoners  fol 
lowed.  Henry  Pascal  himself  was  apparently 
the  least  affected.  He  could  not  understand 
the  summons,  yet  the  frame  of  mind  in  which 
it  found  him  inclined  him  to  regard  it  rather 
favorably  than  otherwise.  He  very  well  appre 
hended  the  character  of  Dessalines;  but  the 
monster,  he  also  knew,  had  on  some  rare  occa 
sions  been  generous,  and  hope  whispered  at  his 
ear  that  this  exceptional  summons  might  in 
some  way  be  connected  with  this  unknown 


244        1791— ^4  Tale  of  San  Domingo. 

friend.  With  such  an  impression  on  his 
mind  he  was  hurried  by  the  guard  into  the 
presence  of  Dessalines  and  his  officers.  His 
face  bore  the  effect  of  physical  and  mental 
suffering.  He  was  pale  and  heavy-eyed,  the 
paleness  being  deepened  by  a  dark  band  across 
the  Wounded  temple,  caused  by  extravasated 
blood ;  yet  there  was  withal  a  certain  air  of 
collectedness  such  as  a  brave  spirit,  animated 
by  some  secret  hopes,  might  manifest  under 
such  circumstances. 

M.  Tardiffe  had  entered  the  apartment  pre 
vious  to  the  prisoner's  arrival,  and  seeing  no 
means  of  concealment  and  that  recognition 
would  be  inevitable,  insisted  upon  a  position 
on  the  piazza.  This  was  a  spacious  appendage 
to  the  building,  latticed  in  at  the  ends,  and 
showing  on  the  open  side  a  partial  view  of  the 
estate,  with  the  windmill  standing  among 
palms  on  an  eminence.  Here  M.  Tardiffe  was 
seated  by  a  window  connected  with  the  room. 
The  sash  was  raised,  but  the  shifting  Venetian 
blinds  were  down,  and  he  had  full  command  of 
the  apartment  without  risk  of  being  observed. 


1791—^  Tale  of  San  Domingo.        245 

As  he  took  in  the  situation  on  the  prisoner's 
entrance,  his  eyes  sparkled  and  he  rubbed  his 
hands  in  glee  over  the  way  things  were  going. 
Dessalines,  who  was  in  that  state  of  incipient 
intoxication  signified  by  the  word  "primed" — 
a  state  precisely  suited  for  the  display  of  his 
personality — and  who  keenly  relished  such  an 
opportunity  for  exhibiting  his  brutal  cunning, 
began  the  interrogatories  with  artful  dissimula 
tion. 

"  What's  yer  name?  "  he  asked  the  prisoner, 
in  as  kindly  a  manner  as  he  was  capable  of 
assuming. 

"  Henry  Beattie." 

"  Chantalle,"  said  the  chief,  turning  towards 
his  secretary  and  attempting  the  high-sounding 
language  for  which  negroes,  even  as  naturally 
shrewd  as  Dessalines,  have  an  irresistible 
penchant,  "  set  down  his  deposition." 

"Where  d'ye  live?" 

"  At  the  Cape." 

"  What's  yer  business  ?  " 

"  A  fruit-buyer." 

"  I  thought  you  was  somebody  else,"  said  the 


246        1791—  A  Tale  of  San  Domingo. 

chief.  "  I  thought  yer  name  was  Henry  Pascal. 
They've  been  telling  me  about  him.  They  tell 
me  Henry  Pascal's  a  prisoner,  and  I  thought 
you  was  him." 

He  paused  and  fixed  his  red,  roving  eyes  full 
upon  the  prisoner,  as  if  expecting  some  answer. 
The  latter,  however,  though  profoundly  startled, 
controlled  his  emotions  and  remained  silent, 
wondering  what  the  end  would  be,  and  Dessa- 
lines  continued : 

"  You're  here,  buckra,  and  I'll  tell  ye  why. 
They  call  me  a  devil,  don't  they  ?  And  them 
priests  say  a  devil  can't  do  good ;  but  blest  if  I 
an't  one  that  can.  Look  a-here:  I'm  on  top 
now,  but  you  sabe  I  was  once  on  a  time  a  poor 
runaway.  He  couldn't  catch  me ;  I  mean  him 
I  had  to  call  master — curse  that  name !  "  Des- 
salines  added  parenthetically  and  in  a  low 
gnashing  tone,  and  then  immediately  broke 
out,  almost  in  a  shout,  "  Vive  la  devolution! 
Qa  ira!  Qa  ira! — no  he  couldn't  catch  me; 
but,  I  tell  you  what,  he  took  it  out  on  my  old 
woman,  Tamoen.  I  used  to  creep  in  of  nights 
to  the  cabin,  and  I  knowed  how  she  was  tor- 


1791— ,4  Tale  of  San  Domingo.        247 

mented.  She  got  the  cow-skin,  got  it  heavy, 
and  they  drove  her  to  the  field  starved  and 
naked;  that's  what  made  me  a  devil,  buckra," 
lifting  his  great  brows  and  shaking  the  fore 
finger  as  he  spoke. 

"  Well,  one  moony  night  I  meet  in  the  road 
Monsieur  Pascal.  I'd  heard  'em  say  he  was  a 
good  master  and  had  feelings  for  niggers.  I 
tell  him  my  story,  and  I  asked  for  money  to  git 
things  for  Tamoen,  and  I  got  it,  and  I'm  a 
devil  that  an't  a-going  to  disremember.  Well, 
buckra,  they've  been  telling  me  you  is  his  son, 
and  I  was  going  to  say  to  his  son,  You  is  free ; 
and  if  his  dad's  got  to  the  Cape,  I  was  going  to 
send  him  to  him  safe  and  sound  as  a  remember 
from  Dessalines." 

Henry  Pascal  followed  Dessalines'  words 
with  great  and  increasing  agitation  of  mind, 
and  was  entirely  misled  by  the  assumed  man 
ner  and  apparent  sincerity  of  the  speaker,  as 
well  as  by  the  circumstances  interwoven  in  the 
address.  Monster  though  he  was,  Dessalines 
had  done,  as  young  Pascal  knew,  some  eccen 
tric  acts  of  generosity ;  the  conduct  attributed 


248        1791— .4  Tale  of  San  Domingo. 

to  his  father  was  altogether  in  keeping  with 
his  character,  and  paralleled  by  many  marked 
instances  of  kindness  to  blacks  which  Henry 
Pascal  could  himself  recall ;  and  the  allusions 
Dessalines  more  than  once  made  to  those  who 
knew  Henry  Pascal  and  had  been  talking  to 
the  chief  about  him  agreed  with  impressions 
already  made  by  the  underscoring.  Completely 
deceived,  therefore,  and  with  a  sentiment  of 
gratitude  towards  Dessalines  as  profound  as 
the  occasion  for  it  was  unexpected,  he  eagerly 
availed  himself  of  the  pause  to  speak  out,  in  a 
husky  voice,  and  almost  overborne  by  emotion : 

"  Sire,  I  am  the  son  of  the  man  of  whom  you 
speak;  my  name  is  Henry  Beattie  Pascal. 
Let  me — " 

But  he  was  not  permitted  to  express  his 
eager  thanks,  for,  bursting  into  a  roar  of 
laughter  so  wild  and  so  loud  as  to  resound 
through  the  chamber,  Dessalines  at  that  instant 
sprang  from  his  seat  and  cried  out : 

"Yes,  you  Jamaica  slubberdegullion — yes, 
I've  heard  'bout  you,  for  true.  I  'llowed  I'd 
git  you.  Come  to  fight  niggers,  eh  ?  And  now 


1791— ^4  Tale  of  San  Domingo.        249 

the  Lord  has  delivered  you  into  a  nigger's 
hand.  Out  with  him,  guard,  out  with  him,  and 
make  daylight  through  him  in  a  kick." 

As  Henry  Pascal  saw  the  trap  into  which  he 
had  fallen,  a  flush  shot  athwart  his  countenance 
and  as  rapidly  ebbed,  leaving  in  its  track  a 
death-like  pallor.  Yet  he  was  himself  in  all 
the  whirl  of  thoughts — vengeful,  spiritual, 
filial — which  rushed  on  his  mind  and  pressed 
for  solution  within  the  compass  of  an  instant. 
Against  Dessalines,  whom  a  moment  before  he 
was  regarding  with  the  liveliest  sentiments  of 
gratitude,  the  revulsion  of  feeling  was  intense, 
and  the  impulse  to  curse  the  brute  to  his  face 
instinctive  and  all  but  resistless.  The  result, 
however,  he  foresaw  would  be  his  death  on  the 
spot,  and  why  sacrifice  the  moments  of  life  now 
remaining  and  yield  his  soul  in  a  tumult  of 
passion?  Explanations  flashed  on  him — but 
would  he  be  heard?  If  heard,  would  he  be 
believed  ?  At  least  he  would  make  the  effort 
for  truth's  sake,  if  no  more. 

It  was  all  in  vain.  He  was  in  the  clutch  of 
a  fiend  to  whom  in  such  moods  justice  and 


250        1791— A  Tale  of  San  Domingo. 

mercy  were  utterly  unknown,  and  who,  as 
Henry  Pascal  attempted  to  speak,  broke  out 
upon  him : 

"  Come,  come,  none  o'  yer  lip,  or  I'll  settle 
your  hash  right  here  myself." 

By  this  time  the  guard,  who  knew  the  neces 
sity  of  despatch  in  executing  the  orders  of  this 
negro,  had  hustled  the  prisoner  to  the  door, 
when  Dessalines  stopped  them : 

"  Chain  him  down  in  the  cage  to-night.  It's 
where  they've  teached  dogs  to  go  for  niggers, 
and  I  want  the  buster  to  lay  there  a  while  and 
think.  But  hark  ye,"  lifting  a  finger  as  he 
spoke,  "  he's  to  be  cold  meat  by  sun-up ! " 


CHAPTER  XIII. 
THE  CAGE. 

HE  "  cage  "  referred  to  by  Dessalines 
had  been  brought  into  the  camp 
from  the  plantation  of  M.  Latour, 
the  brutal  master  spoken  of  in  a  preceding 
chapter.  It  was  a  cube  in  shape,  measuring 
six  feet  each  way,  and  made  out-and-out  of 
iron.  The  sides  were  finished  in  with  strong 
bars  crossing  each  other  at  right  angles,  and 
an  extension  of  this  lattice-work  formed  the 
frame  of  the  roof,  upon  which  boards  were 
laid.  It  had  been  used  by  M.  Latour  at  times 
as  a  prison  for  slaves  under  discipline,  but 
more  generally  as  a  kennel  for  his  blood-hounds 
when  in  training  to  catch  runaways.  In  train 
ing  these  dogs  the  usual  method  was  as  follows : 
They  were  early  parted  from  the  dam,  and,,  in 

251 


252        1791— .4  Tale  of  San  Domingo. 

order  to  develop  fully  their  natural  ferocity, 
were  reared  as  far  as  possible  upon  warm 
blood  taken  from  various  animals.  At  a  suit 
able  age  the  belly  of  a  negro  dummy,  filled 
with  blood  and  entrails,  was  opened  before 
them,  and  the  hounds  encouraged  to  feed  from 
it;  and  this  was  repeated  day  after  day  until 
the  savage  creatures  associated  the  negro  form 
with  the  satisfaction  of  hunger.  They  were 
then  shut  up  in  a  strong  kennel  or  cage,  such 
as  this  from  M.  Latour's,  and  kept  there 
without  food,  water  only  being  supplied  to 
them,  till  symptoms  of  starvation  began  to 
become  manifest.  When  thus  maddened  by 
hunger  the  keeper  would  bring  a  negro  dummy, 
stuffed  with  their  favorite  food,  and  place  it 
upright  before  them,  and  the  hounds,  furious 
at  the  sight,  would  howl  dreadfully,  and  make 
frantic  efforts  to  break  through  the  bars.  To 
excite  them  the  more  the  keeper  presently 
would  slowly  advance  the  dummy  nearer  and 
nearer,  motioning  all  the  while  towards  its 
breast  and  encouraging  the  dogs,  whose  howls 
would  now  be  exchanged  for  low,  intense  whines 


1791—^4  Tale  of  San  Domingo.        253 

and  murmurs  of  delight.  Then  he  would 
suddenly  remove  the  dummy  back,  at  which 
the  wildest  cries  of  fury  would  burst  from 
the  brutes,  and  not  unfrequently,  in  the 
rage  of  disappointed  desire,  they  would  fall 
upon  and  destroy  each  other.  At  last,  when 
they  had  been  roused  to  the  utmost,  the 
door  would  be  opened,  and  they  would  rush 
upon  the  dummy  and  instantly  rend  it  into 
pieces. 

While  at  the  horrid  meal  they  were  carefully 
caressed  by  the  keeper,  and  so  taught  to  dis 
tinguish  between  white  and  black,  as  between 
friend  and  foe ;  and  this  was  the  keeper's 
protection  when  the  hounds  were  out  upon 
their  human  hunts.  So  accustomed  were  they 
to  regard  the  negro  as  their  lawful  prey  that 
it  was  necessary  to  keep  them  securely  chained. 
At  times  they  would  break  loose,  and  the  most 
dreadful  things  are  told  of  how  on  such  occasions 
they  would  rend  innocent  blacks,  and  especially 
children,  that  they  met  by  chance.  With  the 
greatest  accuracy  these  creatures  learned  to 
discriminate  the  African  scent,  and,  once  on 


254        1791—^  Tale  of  San  Domingo. 

the  trail  of  a  runaway,  followed  it  up  *with 
deadly  sagacity.  Escape  was  well-nigh  impos 
sible,  unless  the  black  took  to  a  .tree  and 
awaited  the  keepers,  whose  mercies,  by  the 
way,  were  often  scarcely  more  tender  than  those 
of  the  hounds.  As  may  be  supposed,  the 
negroes  regarded  them  with  mortal  terror. 
Naught  else  human  conveyed  to  their  minds 
such  ideas  of  horror. 

The  morning  after  the  battle  a  party  of 
negroes,  headed  by  Welcome,  had  brought  over 
the  "cage"  in  triumph  from  the  Latour  plan 
tation,  but  a  few  leagues  away,  and  it  now 
stood  beneath  a  lime  in  a  rear  enclosure  con 
nected  with  the  headquarters,  where  it  was 
regarded  by  the  blacks  with  great  curiosity  as 
being  intimately  associated  with  the  cruelties 
of  a  notoriously  brutal  master.  In  this  kennel 
Henry  Pascal  was  locked  up  for  the  night. 
Save  a  sawn  section  of  a  tree  that  had  been 
rolled  in  for  the  occasion,  it  was  void  of  furni 
ture.  On  this  block  the  prisoner  was  seated, 
and  to  it  his  fetters  were  secured  by  chain  and 
staple,  while  a  plate  of  coarse  dry  fish  that  had 


1791— A  Tale  of  San  Domingo.        255 

been  sent  in  for  his  supper  remained  untasted 
beside  him. 

Negroes  are  great  gossips,  and  "  news  "  goes 
from  mouth  to  mouth  with  astonishing  speed. 
It  was  almost  immediately  known  throughout 
the  camp  that  a  prisoner  was  on  trial,  and 
many  loitered  about  headquarters  to  hear  the 
issue.  When,  therefore,  they  saw  the  prisoner 
thrust  into  the  "cage,"  and  learned  from  the 
guard  that  he  was  to  be  shot  next  morning,  the 
report  passed  through  the  camp  like  a  flash, 
and  the  blacks  began  flocking  to  the  spectacle. 
Presently  it  was  noised  about  that  the  prisoner 
was  no  other  than  M.  Latour  himself,  and 
this  greatly  increased  both  the  numbers  and 
the  excitement.  A  peering,  scowling,  cursing 
throng  became  rapidly  massed  about  the  "  cage," 
and  the  guard  had  difficulty  in  keeping  hands 
off.  In  the  press  were  many  women,  great 
numbers  of  whom  thronged  the  camp,  drawn 
thither  either  by  the  curiosity  natural  to  the 
sex,  or  as  connected  with  the  commissariat 
(the  black  army  at  the  time  received  its  supplies 
almost  exclusively  through  this  channel),  and 


256        1791— ^4  Tale  of  San  Domingo. 

the  hags  far  outdid  the  men  in  their  hideous 
grimacing  and  vituperation,  and  most  foul  and 
horrible  imprecations.  Woman !  woman ! 

In  every  age,  race,  and  degree, 

The  main  of  tenderness  and  sweet  charity 

Abides,  O  womankind,  with  thee ; 

Yet  if  thou  shouldst  a  demon  be, 

A  good  one  thou,  a  good  one  verily. 

Suddenly  above  the  tumult  came  a  sharp 
bark.  The  allusion  was  instantly  perceived, 
and  every  note  of  the  dog  broke  from  the 
angered  and  imitative  blacks — whines,  yelps, 
bays,  barks,  snarls,  growls,  and  howls,  in  a 
most  strange  and  a  most  frightful  chorus.  The 
effect  was  maddening,  recalling,  as  the  cries 
did,  every  blood-hound  horror;  and  the  passions 
of  the  crowd,  acting  and  reacting  on  each  other, 
rose  into  a  frenzy,  and  it  looked  as  if  they  would 
drag  the  prisoner  from  the  "cage"  and  tear 
him  piecemeal.  The  guard,  however,  succeeded 
in  convincing  those  nearest  them  that  the 
prisoner  was  not  M.  Latour,  and  the  rain, 
which  now  began  to  fall  heavily,  drove  many 
away  and  had  a  cooling  effect  on  the  rest, 
to  whom,  moreover,  the  guard  more  fully 


1791— ^4  Tale  of  San  Domingo.        257 

explained  the  circumstances  of  the  trial ;  and  in 
the  face  of  approaching  darkness  these,  too, 
began  to  depart,  till  the  vicinity  of  the  "  cage  " 
was  deserted  save  by  a  solitary  black.  He  was 
a  negro  of  striking  aspect,  and  his  manner  and 
actions  altogether  peculiar. 


17 


CHAPTER  XIV. 
JACQUE. 

JHEN  the  key  turned  in  the  lock  of 
the  prison-door  Henry  Pascal  closed 
his  eyes  on  earthly  things.  Towards 
his  father  and  towards  Emilie  Tourner  his 
thoughts  would  now  and  then  go  out,  but  it 
was  torturing  and  disturbing,  and  he  forced 
them  back  and  bent  them  upon  himself.  To 
prepare  for  death  was  now  the  work  before 
him;  and  it  pressed,  as  he  had  but  a  span  to 
live.  Solemn  is  that  closing  hour — far  more 
so  if  faith  has  enlightened  the  soul — when  all 
related  things  must  be  forgotten  and  we  really 
get  face  to  face  with  ourselves.  In  current 
life  such  converse  is  rarely  held.  These  related 
things  continually  engross  us  and  shut  the 
"  ego "  from  view.  What  am  I  ?  Whither 
258 


1791—^4  Tale  of  San  Domingo.        259 

am  I  going  ?  are  moving  questions  when  their 
eternal  possibilities  are  at  the  point  of  solution. 
In  a  glance  Henry  Pascal  took  in  his  past 
life.  The  retrospect  was  one  of  light  and 
shadow,  yet  far  above  the  average  of  his  class. 
He  had  been  upright  and  honorable  before  the 
world,  his  filial  duties  had  been  discharged 
with  singular  devotedness,  and,  compared  with 
the  young  men  of  his  day,  who  had  very 
generally  become  infected  with  the  rank  infi 
delity  of  France,  and  whose  morals  were  notori 
ously  corrupt,  he  was  religious.  At  an  era  of 
aggressive,  defiant,  fashionable  unbelief  he  had 
not  been  ashamed  to  avow  his  faith,  and  his 
connection  with  the  church,  made  in  early  life, 
had  never  been  formally  broken.  But  the  age, 
as  we  have  said,  was  eminently  a  scoffing  one ; 
the  planters,  many  of  them  enormously  rich, 
were  steeped  in  licentiousness,  a  race  of  sybar 
ites  ;  every  tendency  towards  vice  and  license 
had  been  prodigiously  stimulated  by  the  spirit 
caught  from  the  mother  country;  and  these 
adverse  influences  were  concentrated  at  the 
Cape,  where  Henry  Pascal  had  been  residing 


260        1791— A  Tale  of  San  Domingo. 

for  some  years,  apart  from  his  family.  Besides 
all  this,  the  distractions  of  the  colony  exerted 
an  irreligious  bias,  and  in  his  mother's  death 
he  had  lost  a  spiritual  friend.  It  is  not  sur 
prising,  therefore,  that  in  spite  of  himself,  as  it 
were,  he  should  have  yielded  more  or  less  to 
such  environments,  and  religious  duties,  of  late 
years,  fallen  into  neglect.  At  heart,  however, 
he  was  religious.  There  remained  a  root  of 
faith,  strong  in  early  culture.  Weeds  had 
sprung  up  round  it,  but  had  not  choked  it. 

As  he  now  seated  himself  upon  the  prison 
block,  he  drew  from  his  pocket  a  small  silver 
crucifix.  It  was  doubly  dear,  for  it  had  been  a 
gift  from  his  mother  years  before,  and  ever 
since  he  had  very  carefully  kept  it  about  his 
person.  Even  of  nights  he  would  hang  it 
round  his  neck  or  fasten  it  to  a  button-hole, 
and  it  came  to  be  a  point  with  him  never  to 
have  it  parted  from  him.  Had  he  been  less 
enlightened,  he  could  scarcely  have  regarded 
so  suggestive  an  object  as  a  mere  charm.  Still, 
he  had  a  sense  of  being  uncomfortable  when 
the  crucifix  now  and  then  chanced  to  become 


1791— ^4  Tale  of  San  Domingo.        261 

misplaced,  as  if  some  protective  influence  had 
departed.  This  crucifix,  which  in  other  times 
he  had  so  often  and  so  fervently  pressed,  and 
which  even  in  the  latter  days  of  carelessness  he 
had  sacredly  kept  near  him,  he  now  drew  forth. 
It  was  fragrant  with  a  mother's  memories,  and 
he  dwelt  upon  her  and  all  she  had  taught  him. 
Upon  her  he  dwelt,  for  she  was  among  the 
dead,  and  he  was  soon  to  be  numbered  with 
her.  Of  his  father  he  would  not  permit  him 
self  to  think. 

Scarcely  had  these  communings  begun  when 
they  were  broken  in  upon  by  the  tumult  that 
almost  immediately  arose  around  the  "  cage/' 
At  first  it  was  distracting,  and  Henry  Pascal 
prayed  for  night  and  quietude.  But  the  inten 
sity  of  his  emotions  was  preoccupying,  and  he 
soon  ceased  to  regard  the  uproar,  save  as  it  fell 
in  with  his  own  mental  workings.  As  he 
pressed  the  crucifix  and  thought  of  the  Man  of 
Sorrows,  stretched  on  a  cross  innocent  and 
unheard,  his  naked  body  blistering  under  Sy 
ria's  noonday  sun,  and  every  eye  that  turned 
upon  him  a  dagger,  he  saw  in  his  own  circum- 


262        1791— ^4  Tale  of  San  Domingo. 

stances,  with  this  deafening  storm  of  passion 
raging  round  him,  some  sort  of  a  parallel,  and 
it  gave  to  his  supplications  a  vivid  realism. 

"  Jesu !  Jesu !  "  he  would  cry  within  himself, 
"  through  how  much  pain  and  how  little  pleas 
ure  didst  Thou  press  on  to  a  bitter  death ! 
Oh !  be  a  friend  to  me.  Holy  Mary !  pray  for 
me.  And  thou,  my  guardian  angel,  help  me 
at  this  hour." 

As  the  numbers  and  rage  of  the  crowd  began 
to  lessen  rapidly  under  the  influence  of  the 
elements  and  the  explanations  of  the  guard, 
Henry  Pascal  welcomed  the  approach  of  peace. 
He  now  withdrew  more  entirely  within  himself, 
and  failed  to  notice  a  black  who  had  passed 
several  times  to  and  fro  just  in  front  of  the 
"  cage,"  and  each  time,  as  he  reached  the  rear 
of  the  solitary  guard  (for  his  comrade  had 
gone  to  supper),  raised  his  forefinger  across  his 
lips,  as  if  soliciting  recognition.  This  negro 
had  been  a  looker-on  upon  the  outside  of  the 
throng,  taking  no  part  in  the  demonstrations. 
He  was  a  tall,  powerful-looking  man,  appar 
ently  in  the  prime  of  life,  erect  as  an  Indian, 


1791— ^4  Tale  of  San  Domingo.        263 

head  small,  but  symmetrical,  and  firmly  set  on 
massive  shoulders.  As  he  passed  for  the  third 
time  Henry  Pascal,  who  had  lifted  his  eyes 
and  was  looking  out  with  a  far-away  expression 
into  the  gathering  darkness,  caught  the  gesture, 
and  bending  his  gaze  through  the  gloom,  with 
a  thrill  recognized  the  form.  Jacque  (for  it 
was  no  other  than  he)  saw  the  recognition,  and 
repeating  the  sign,  passed  on.  Upon  the  return 
he  again  raised  the  finger  to  the  lips,  and  receiv 
ing  the  sign  from  his  young  master,  immedi 
ately  withdrew. 

It  is  no  reflection  upon  the  sincerity  of  Henry 
Pascal's  spiritual  preparations  that  another 
train  of  thought  now  rushed  into  prominence. 
He  stood  upon  the  threshold  of  life,  full  of 
health  and  strength,  and  bound  to  the  world 
by  tender  ties.  Naturally,  he  desired  to  live, 
and  the  hopes  and  conjectures  originated  by 
Jacque' s  appearance  on  the  scene  filled  and 
agitated  his  mind.  From  his  knowledge  of 
Jacque's  fearless  character  and  devotion  to  his 
family  he  felt  perfectly  certain  an  attempt  at 
rescue  would  be  made  should  the  slightest 


264        1791—^  Tale  of  San  Domingo. 

opportunity  offer.  But  could  the  faithful  negro 
succeed?  Jacque  must  be  single-handed,  he 
reflected,  and  could  he  possibly  rescue  him, 
imprisoned  and  under  guard,  from  the  centre 
of  a  military  camp?  The  night  was  stormy, 
and,  so  far,  favorable,  he  thought ;.  the  vigilance 
of  the  raw  blacks,  too,  must  be  at  a  minimum 
in  such  weather ;  and  Jacque  was  sagacious  as 
well  as  brave.  There  was  a  chance,  and  he 
clung  to  it,  and  kissed  the  crucifix  again  and 
again  for  it. 

The  night  was,  in  truth,  a  stormy  one.  The 
day  had  opened  bright  and  breezy.  The  sky 
wore  a  brilliant  blue,  and  not  a  cloud  could  be 
seen  save  a  few  white  strata  lying  low  along 
the  eastern  horizon.  Towards  noon  some 
mare's-tails  appeared  in  the  north,  and  by-and- 
by  there  was  an  overcast,  the  sun  occasionally 
breaking  through ;  but  the  clouds,  which  moved 
slowly  from  the  southwest,  seemed  too  high  for 
rain.  They  grew  more  dense,  however,  and  an 
hour  later  the  rain  began,  at  first  in  a  drizzle, 
gradually  increasing,  with  now  and  then,  as 
darkness  drew  on,  heavy,  quiet  pours.  From 


1791— A  Tale  of  San  Domingo.        265 

this  time  a  tempest  developed,  the  wind  rising 
and  the  lightning  displaying  itself  over  the 
heavens  in  broad  areas,  followed  by  high  roll 
ing  thunder.  It  was  one  of  those  growing 
storms  sometimes  seen  in  the  tropics,  the  rain 
falls  ordinarily  being  sudden  and  furious,  with 
terrific  descending  peals,  and  succeeded  often  by 
brilliant  sunsets. 

The  prisoner  being  chained  within  an  iron 
"  cage  "  under  lock  and  key,  the  captain  of  the 
watch  deemed  two  guards  sufficient ;  and  as  the 
night  advanced,  and  all  save  the  elements  had 
become  quiet  in  the  camp,  these  arranged 
between  themselves  to  take  shelter  by  turns  in 
a  neighboring  out-house.  Toward  midnight 
the  weather  was  tempestuous.  It  rained,  blew 
hard,  and  was  very  dark.  The  man  on  duty 
was  squatting  against  the  lime  that  stood  at  the 
southwest  corner  of  the  "  cage,"  resting  the 
muzzle  of  the  musket  on  the  ground,  and 
clasping  the  lock  in  the  arm-pit  in  the  endeavor 
to  protect  it  from  the  damp.  His  cap  was 
drawn  down  close  over  the  eyes,  and  he  was 
dwelling  upon  the  execution  to  take  place  in 


266        1791—^  Tale  of  San  Domingo. 

the  morning,  wondering  how  many  would  be 
detailed  to  shoot,  whether  he  himself  would  be 
among  them,  whether  Ms  shot  would  take 
effect,  etc.,  when  his  ear — negroes  are  remarka 
bly  quick  to  hear — caught  the  sound  of  a  foot-fall 
to  the  rear.  Supposing  it  was  his  comrade, 
yet  surprised,  as  he  felt  sure  his  time  was  not 
out  by  half,  he  started  up  and  turned  in  the 
direction  of  the  sound.  As  he  did  so,  a  deadly 
blow  stretched  him  on  the  sod.  He  fell  with 
out  a  groan,  as  dead  as  if  the  heart  had  been 
pierced. 

Jacque  and  his  companion,  (for  the  former 
was  accompanied)  at  once  fell  to  work.  They 
dreaded  the  lightning,  which  in  a  storm  of  this 
character  shone  in  wide  sheets  of  mild  blue 
light,  making  objects  as  distinct  as  day.  Not 
a  word  was  spoken.  The  door  of  the  "  cage  " 
yielded  easily  to  a  prizing-bar,  Henry  Pascal's 
fetters  were  quickly  broken,  and  silently  and 
rapidly  the  three  moved  on,  under  Jacque's 
guidance,  till  a  point  in  the  wood  was  reached 
outside  the  limits  of  the  camp.  Here  Jacque 
stopped  and  hurriedly  said  that  he  must  go 


1791—^4  Tale  of  San  Domingo.        267 

back,  that  he  held  a  position  of  prominence, 
and,  to  avoid  suspicion,  should  be  in  his  place 
before  the  return  of  the  other  guard  to  his  post 
and  the  escape  became  known ;  that  he  (Henry 
Pascal)  could  fully  trust  his  companion,  who 
would  explain  everything;  that  pursuit,  he 
thought,  would  be  out  of  the  question,  as  the 
rain  would  destroy  all  trace  of  footsteps.  He 
further  told  him  that  it  was  he  who  had  saved 
him  in  the  battle  and  who  had  gotten  in  the 
proclamation,  and  also  that  M.  Tardiife  was  on 
a  visit  to  Dessalines.  All  this  was  said  in  the 
most  hurried  manner  possible.  Time  was  pre 
cious  to  each.  Jacque  held  out  to  his  young 
master  the  hand  of  adieu,  at  which  the  latter 
fell  upon  his  neck,  and  having  embraced  him 
with  the  utmost  ardor,  struck  out  with  his 
guide.  Two  miles  away  a  musket  report,  borne 
upon  the  stormy  wind,  told  the  tale  of  the 
escape ;  but  they  considered  themselves  secure 
from  pursuit,  and  felt  assured  Jacque  had  had 
time  to  make  good  his  return. 


CHAPTER  XV. 

THE  FLIGHT. 

|P  THE  insurrectionary  negroes  some 
were  guided  by  lofty  motives  and 
took  no  hand  in  the  ghastly  excesses 
that  characterized  by  far  the  larger  part. 
Among  these  was  Jacque  Beattie.  He  had 
been  identified  with  the  movement  from  its 
inception,  and  his  high  character  and  intelli 
gence  at  once  secured  position.  The  officers 
for  the  black  army  Dessalines  selected  almost 
wholly  from  his  own  trained  men.  Outside  of 
this  body  Jacque  was  one  of  the  very  few  who 
received  a  responsible  place.  He  was  known 
in  the  army  as  Colonel  Beattie,  his  command 
consisting  of  some  five  hundred  men,  at  the 
head  of  whom  he  had  shown  conspicuous  gal 
lantry  in  the  late  battle.  Though  not  within 
268 


1791—^4  Tale  of  San  Domingo.        269 

that  limited  circle  around  Dessalines  where 
military  measures  were  authoritatively  dis 
cussed,  yet  he  was  in  a  position  to  learn  at 
once  conclusions  reached.  He  knew  of  Dessa 
lines'  disposition  to  ransom  the  prisoners 
almost  as  soon  as  formed,  and,  to  warn  Henry 
Pascal  against  Jamaica  reports,  contrived 
through  the  guard  to  have  a  copy  of  the 
proclamation,  with  the  pencillings  that  had 
been  correctly  read,  dropped  into  their  room. 
He  was  aware,  too,  of  M.  Tardiffe's  presence  in 
camp.  He  knew  well  this  man's  real  character, 
and  shared  his  young  master's  opinion  of  him, 
I  ami  des  noirs  though  they  called  him.  As  a 
trusted  body-servant  in  the  Pascal  family,  he 
was  fully  cognizant  of  the  rivalry  between  him 
and  his  young  master.  When  the  latter  was 
suddenly  summoned  before  Dessalines  a  sus 
picion  at  once  arose  that  M.  Tardiffe  might  be 
at  the  bottom  of  it,  and  the  impression  deepened 
on  his  learning  the  nature  of  the  false  charges 
for  which  Henry  Pascal  had  been  ordered  to 
execution.  What  other  source  for  these  charges 
so  likely,  he  thought,  under  all  the  circum- 


270        1791— A  Tale  of  San  Domingo. 

stances?  Upon  the  accusation  or  its  origin, 
however,  he  did  not  dwell.  His  sole  thought 
now  was  the  rescue  of  his  young  master,  and 
this  he  resolved  to  attempt  if  a  possible  chance 
of  success  offered. 

In  the  person  of  another  negro,  with  the 
sobriquet  of  Kingfisher,  Jacque  had  a  confeder 
ate.  His  real  name  was  Francis,  and  in  early 
life  he  had  been  the  property  of  Colonel  Tour- 
ner.  His  wife,  however,  belonged  to  another 
proprietor,  whose  estate  lay  in  the  northeastern 
corner  of  the  province,  not  far  from  the  town  of 
Limonade ;  and  as  the  Colonel's  efforts  to  buy 
the  woman  had  proven  fruitless,  he  had  dis 
posed  of  Francis,  upon  his  own  entreaty,  to 
this  proprietor,  that  man  and  wife  might  not 
be  parted.  In  felling  timber  Francis  had  sus 
tained  an  injury  that  permanently  disabled  one 
of  his  legs,  and  a  crab-yaw  afterwards  attacked 
the  foot.  Rendered  unfit  for  active  plantation 
work,  his  master,  a  kind-hearted  man,  had 
settled  him,  in  requital  for  faithful  services, 
upon  a  few  acres  near  the  mouth  of  the  Yaqui 
or  St.  lago,  a  river  that  empties  into  the  sea, 


1791— A  Tale  of  San  Domingo.        271 

by  a  broad  and  deep  channel,  some  fifty  miles 
eastward  from  Cape  Frangois.  Here  Francis 
lived  practically  free.  Bella,  his  wife,  looked 
after  the  patch.  He  himself  devoted  his  time 
to  fishing,  for  which  the  Yaqui  and  its  tribu 
taries  afforded  an  excellent  field ;  and  in  this 
occupation  he  became  so  expert  that  he  was 
commonly  known  as  Kingfisher.  After  supply 
ing  his  master  and  himself  from  the  products 
of  his  nets  and  traps  enough  remained  to 
enable  him  to  turn  many  an  honest  penny, 
and  altogether  he  was  a  well-to-do,  happy 
"  nigger." 

Kingfisher  had  brought  in  fish  and  vegeta 
bles  for  the  army,  ascending  in  his  canoe  a 
western  branch  of  the  Yaqui  to  within  a  few 
miles  of  the  camp,  and  soon  came  across  Jacque 
Beattie.  Jacque  and  he  were  close  friends, 
though  Jacque  was  much  the  younger.  In 
earlier  life  (the  Pascals  and  Tourners.  being 
intimate  and  the  estates  near  each  other)  they 
had  been  a  great  deal  together,  and  after  the 
latter's  removal  they  were  not  so  far  apart  as 
not  to  meet  at  least  occasionally — the  slaves,  of 


272        1791— ^4  Tale  of  San  Domingo. 

nights,  being  notorious  go-abouts,  and  often 
making  astonishing  journeys.  The  moment 
Jacque  (who  was  intensely  on  the  watch) 
learned  the  result  of  the  court-martial,  he 
sought  out  Kingfisher.  He  had  influence  with 
him,  and  knew  him  to  be  good  grit,  and  that  he 
cherished  a  warm  regard  for  the  Pascal  family. 
So  he  sounded  him,  and  finding  him  to  his 
mind,  made  known  the  facts  in  regard  to  Henry 
Pascal,  dwelling  particularly  on  his  belief  that 
his  young  master's  hapless  fate  was  due  to  the 
machinations  of  M.  Tardiffe,  envenomed  against 
him  as  the  successful  suitor  for  the  hand  of 
£milie  Tourner.  All  this  touched  old  King 
fisher,  under  whose  black  skin  beat  a  big, 
tender  heart.  He  remembered  very  gratefully 
his  good  old  master,  nor  had  he  forgotten  the 
many  little  kindnesses  of  Madame  Tourner, 
nor  the  sweet  face  of  "  Ma'm'selle."  He  had 
not  seen  her  since  she  was  a  child,  she  having 
been  abroad  at  school.  But  her  beauty  and 
winsomeness  were  fresh  before  him.  He  knew, 
too,  Jacque's  young  master,  especially  as  the 
playmate  of  "  Ma'm'selle,"  when  he  belonged 


1791— A  Tale  of  San  Domingo.        273 

to  the  old  plantation.  To  help  him  was  like 
helping  the  "  old  folks ;  "  and  all  this,  aided  by 
Jacque's  strong  personal  influence,  readily  won 
him  into  an  ally.  Jacque  and  Kingfisher  con 
ferred  together,  but  nothing  definite  at  the 
moment  could  be  settled  upon.  The  stormy 
night  was  favorable.  The  point  of  difficulty 
related  to  the  guard.  Should  a  strong  one  be 
posted,  an  attempt  to  rescue  would  be  futile.  So 
it  was  arranged  that  Kingfisher,  when  darkness 
set  in,  should  leave  the  camp  with  his  baskets, 
as  if  homeward  bound,  and  having  secreted 
them  by  the  wayside,  meet  Jacque  at  a  desig 
nated  place,  some  hours  later,  for  instructions. 
Meanwhile  the  latter  was  on  the  lookout,  and 
soon  informed  himself  as  to  the  number  and 
disposition  of  the  guard — that  two  only  were 
detailed,  and  they  on  duty,  turn  about,  at 
intervals  of  a  couple  of  hours.  His  plan,  there 
fore,  was  to  slay  the  guard  as  soon  after  reach 
ing  his  post  as  he  thought  his  comrade  would 
be  asleep,  pilot  Henry  Pascal  from  the  camp, 
and,  placing  him  in  charge  of  Kingfisher, 
return  to  his  own  quarters  before  the  discovery 
18 


274        1791— .4  Tale  of  San  Domingo. 

of  the  rescue.     How  far  the  execution  was 
successful  has  been  already  mentioned. 

To  return  to  Henry  Pascal  and  Kingfisher : 
Little  conversation  occurred  as  they  hurried  on 
as  fast  as  circumstances  would  allow.  The 
latter  informed  his  companion  that  their  imme 
diate  destination  was  his  own  home  near  the 
mouth  of  the  Yaqui,  where  Henry  Pascal 
might  strike  a  brig  or  schooner ;  and  that,  in 
default  of  such  good  luck,  he  would  try  to  get 
him  to  the  Cape  by  night  through  the  country. 
Beyond  this  nothing  was  said,  save  a  necessary 
word  now  and  then,  Kingfisher's  attention 
being  absorbed  by  the  difficulties  of  the  way. 
Between  the  camp  and  the  country  there  was 
a  vast  amount  of  passing,  and  parties  might 
be  met  even  at  such  hours  on  such  a  night. 
Kingfisher,  therefore,  whenever  he  could,  chose 
turn-outs  and  blind  paths  and  obscure  roads, 
and  though  he  was  thoroughly  familiar  with 
every  foot  of  the  country,  the  darkness  and 
the  storm  and  his  lame  leg  withal  made  pro 
gress  necessarily  slow.  Full  three  hours  were 
consumed  in  going  the  six  miles  to  the  point 


1791—^4  Tale  of  San  Domingo.        275 

on  the  Riviere  du  Massacre,  where  had  been 
left  the  canoe  or  dugout,  as  it  was  commonly 
called,  being  hewn  and  hollowed  from  a  section 
of  a  tree.  It  was  well  that  Kingfisher  had 
taken  the  precaution  to  draw  the  light  craft 
some  distance  ashore,  otherwise  it  would  have 
been  lost  or  destroyed  in  the  swollen  waters. 
The  canoe  was  found  safe  in  its  place  of  con 
cealment,  but  to  proceed  for  the  present  was 
out  of  the  question.  The  Massacre,  at  all  times 
a  rapid  stream  in  this  piedmont  country,  the 
heavy  rain-fall  had  now  made  a  torrent.  It 
became  necessary  to  wait  for  day,  by  which 
time  Kingfisher  hoped  the  waters  would  so  far 
have  run  down  as  to  enable  him,  in  the  light, 
to  manage  the  boat. 

It  was  a  wild,  unfrequented,  densely  wooded 
spot,  and  several  hours  of  delay  being -before 
them,  Kingfisher  urged  on  his  companion  the 
necessity  for  all  the  sleep  he  could  get,  as  the 
next  three  leagues  would  be  trying.  They 
reascended,  therefore,  the  precipitous  bank  to 
its  summit,  and  in  an  open  space  beneath 
a  pimento-tree  sought  repose,  Henry  Pascal 


276        1791— ^f  Tale  of  San  Domingo. 

resting  against  the  trunk,  and  the  old  negro 
stretched  out  upon  the  wet  leaves.  Henry 
Pascal  had  thought  that  sleep  was  impos 
sible,  but  no  sooner  had  he  settled  himself 
and  exertion  ceased  than  over-wrought  nature 
responded  to  the  invitation.  The  great  and 
prolonged  tension  suddenly  relaxed,  and  before 
he  knew  it  he  was  sleeping  soundly.  He  awoke 
within  an  hour.  Sleep  had  been  short,  yet 
intense  and  refreshing.  How  changed  was 
all !  The  morning  was  fair,  with  a  few  flying 
scuds.  The  stars  were  out,  shining  beautifully 
bright  through  the  cleared-up  atmosphere,  while 
the  moon,  in  her  last  quarter,  hung  in  the 
western  sky.  Henry  Pascal  felt  buoyant  and 
strong.  How  sharp  the  turns  in  life,  he 
thought ;  how  quickly  our  levels  rise  and  fall, 
and  show  the  slowly  changing  world  in  new 
aspects!  The  occurrences  of  a  few  hours 
before  were  a  dreadful  dream,  resembling 
those  storm- driven  clouds  that  had  been 
drenching  the  earth  and  sending  forth  light 
nings  and  thunderings,  but  had  now  all  passed" 
away  and  given  place  to  the  peaceful  stars. 


1791— .4  Tale  of  San  Domingo.        277 

He  reproached  himself  for  not  having  expressed 
the  fulness  of  his  gratitude  to  brave,  noble- 
hearted  Jacque  Beattie.  But  the  time  was  so 
short,  all  were  so  hurried,  Jacque  would  under 
stand  it,  and  Jacque  should  yet  know  the 
depths  of  his  heart  towards  him.  His  thoughts 
then  turned  upon  the  loved  ones  at  the  Cape. 
How  joyfully  would  they  meet?  The  crucifix 
was  in  his  hands.  He  knelt  and  poured  forth 
thanks.  When  he  rose  the  gray  dawn  was 
just  peeping  over  the  eastern  mountains. 
Kingfisher  still  slept — heedless  of  the  mountain 
gnats,  though  the  bite  is  like  a  spark  of  fire — 
and  he  was  allowed  to  sleep  on ;  for  down 
towards  the  shaded  river  it  was  yet  densely  dark. 
The  deep  forest  silence,  enhanced  rather  by 
the  waters'  monotonous  flow,  the  stir  of  life, 
coincident  with  incoming  day,  now  began  to 
break.  From  a  neighboring  tree  a  potoo  gave 
one  of  its  loud,  hoarse  ho-hoos,  followed  by  a 
lower  note  from  the  depths  of  the  throat.  The 
mate  answered ;  then  all  was  still  again.  Sud 
denly  came  a  rushing,  whizzing,  startling  sound. 
It  was  a  piramidig,  or  night-hawk,  swooping 


278        1791— A  Tale  of  San  Domingo. 

on  its  insect  prey.  The  swoop  apparently  was 
a  signal ;  for  immediately  these  birds,  deprived 
by  the  storm  of  the  evening's  meal,  were  out 
in  great  numbers,  winnowing  the  crisp  morning 
air  with  their  long,  narrow,  arcuate  wings — 
now  flying  low,  now  careering  on,  now  beating 
up  and  up,  to  get  space  to  swoop  in  perpen 
dicular  descent;  now  following  each  other  in 
close  and  persistent  pursuit,  "eager  for  the 
nuptial  rite  upon  the  wing ; "  now  darting 
on  prey,  with  their  broad,  viscid  mouths  wide 
opened;  wheeling  and  doubling,  with  sudden 
zigzag  dodgings,  and  stationary  flutterings 
when  a  choice  catch  happened  to  be  made. 
As  Henry  Pascal  sat  musing  and  observant 
the  while  of  these  birds,  watching  their  move 
ments  and  listening  to  their  singular  cries,  the 
day  had  rapidly  advanced.  In  the  glowing 
east,  beneath  some  purple  strata  that  hung 
motionless  in  their  resplendent  settings,  a  fiery 
rim  shot  above  the  horizon,  and  anon  the 
glorious  tropical  sun,  full  orbed,  was  sending 
forth  his  level  rays. 

Henry  Pascal  roused  Kingfisher,  whose  first 


1791—^4  Tale  of  San  Domingo.        279 

care  was  to  hasten  down  the  bank  to  learn  the 
state  of  the  waters.  He  reported,  to  the  sur 
prise  of  his  companion,  that  he  thought  they 
could  proceed.  These  island  streams  run  off  as 
suddenly  as  they  rise,  and  though  the  Massa 
cre  was  still  swollen  and  dangerous,  Kingfisher 
was  an  expert  boatman,  and  good  reasons 
existed  for  making  the  start  at  the  earliest 
practicable  moment.  He  then  explained  to 
Henry  Pascal  the  circumstances  of  the  journey 
before  them — that  the  course  of  the  Massacre 
for  the  next  three  leagues  was  through  a  wild, 
broken  section,  and  the  stream  so  rapid  and 
rough,  especially  in  its  present  state,  that  day 
light  was  necessary  for  managing  the  boat; 
that  as  the  river  was  now  more  or  less  a  high 
way  for  the  coast  negroes  bearing  supplies  to 
the  camp,  his  safety  required  that  he  should 
covertly  follow  the  canoe  along  the  bank ;  that 
he  hoped  these  difficulties  would  be  surmounted 
early  in  the  afternoon,  and  the  point  reached 
where  the  river  approaches  the  savannas  of  the 
lower  lands,  and  its  waters  grow  calmer ;  that 
here  they  would  remain  in  hiding  till  nightfall, 


280        1791— ^4  Tale  of  San  Domingo. 

and  then,  under  cover  of  darkness,  continue 
their  journey  together  in  the  canoe. 

They  broke  their  fast,  from  Kingfisher's  wal 
let,  on  cassada  cakes  and  roasted  yams  and 
plantains.  Henry  Pascal  aided  to  launch  the 
boat,  and  the  journey  began.  It  was  a  toilsome 
one  to  both,  their  efforts,  by  the  way,  being  in 
precisely  opposite  directions — Kingfisher's  en 
deavors  were  to  hold  back,  those  of  his  com 
panion  to  press  forward.  The  former  was 
greatly  hindered  by  the  fish-box  in  tow.  He 
thought  several  times  of  cutting  it  adrift,  but  it 
was  a  good  one,  and  had  been  long  in  use,  and 
he  decided  it  was  worth  extra  trouble.  In  the 
turns  and  eddies  of  the  swift  current,  with  this 
box  swinging  from  side  to  side  and  varying  the 
canoe's  course,  his  best  skill  as  a  boatman  was 
called  into  exercise.  Henry  Pascal's  progress 
was  by  far  the  more  difficult,  and  at  very  many 
points  it  became  necessary  for  Kingfisher  to 
pole  ashore  and  await  him.  To  thread  a  virgin 
tropical  forest,  even  when  one  may  vary  his 
course  along  the  line  of  least  resistance,  is  a 
feat.  The  difficulty  vastly  increases  when  the 


1791— ^4  Tale  of  San  Domingo.        281 

course  is  prescribed,  and  that  along  a  river's 
margin.  The  dense  vines  and  undergrowth, 
many  of  them,  like  the  sensitive  plant,  armed 
with  the  sharpest  needles,  would  have  been 
impenetrable  but  for  the  hatchet  which  King 
fisher  had  supplied  from  the  canoe's  outfit. 
Great  prostrate  trunks,  so  soft  with  decay  as  to 
be  scarcely  able  to  sustain  their  own  weight, 
were  often  in  the  way.  Not  unfrequently 
considerable  detours  became  absolutely  neces 
sary,  at  which  times  communication  with  King 
fisher  was  maintained  through  whistles  and 
halloos.  Here  and  there  tributaries  interrupted 
progress,  when  our  fugitive  would  either  take 
to  the  water  or  be  carried  over  in  the  boat. 
Besides  all  this,  it  was  necessary  to  be  con 
stantly  on  guard  against  venomous  insects 
and  creeping  things.  In  the  nine  miles  but 
one  public  road  was  passed,  where  a  bridge 
spanned  the  Massacre,  and  here  Kingfisher 
took  the  lead  and  carefully  reconnoitered.  At 
noon  a  halt  was  made,  though  half  a  league  only 
of  the  journey  remained.  A  delightful  north 
wind,  moderating  the  weather,  had  followed  in 


282        1791— ^4  Tale  of  San  Domingo. 

the  wake  of  the  storm,  but  down  by  the  river  the 
heat  was  stifling,  and  Henry  Pascal  felt  com 
pletely  worn  out.  A  short  repose  renewed  his 
strength,  and  the  fugitives  struck  out  again, 
anxious  to  finish  this  part  of  their  course  as 
soon  as  possible,  in  order  to  get  rest  against 
the  night  journey ;  and  two  hours  later  they 
reached  the  point  of  which  Kingfisher  had 
spoken,  where  the  Massacre  becomes  broader 
and  smoother  and  approaches  the  cultivated 
lands. 

They  had  suffered  no  interruption  save 
from  natural  obstacles.  Throughout  this  wild, 
sparsely-settled  section,  close  upon  the  Spanish 
line,  not  a  living  soul  had  been  seen  or  heard, 
and  the  swollen  waters  of  the  Massacre  had 
forbidden  ascending  boats.  Here  the  light 
cottonwood  canoe  was  drawn  ashore,  and  ar 
rangements  made  for  substantial  rest.  Henry 
Pascal  had,  indeed,  a  battered  look.  He  was 
excessively  fatigued,  and  his  garments  all  soiled 
and  rent  and  in  the  utmost  disorder ;  but  his 
heart  was  light,  bubbling  over  with  emotions 
of  gratitude  and  joyous  anticipations.  High 


1791— ,4  Tale  of  San  Domingo.        283 

upon  the  bank  a  spot  was  chosen,  and  the 
contents  of  the  provision-wallet  having  been 
well  explored,  he  stretched  himself  out,  with 
the  trusty  negro  by  him,  for  the  rest  and  sleep 
his  jaded  frame  needed,  and  to  which  all  the 
surroundings  lent  their  aid ;  for  on  this  eleva 
tion,  where  the  forest  was  less  dense  and  the 
open  country  in  the  near  distance,  the  cool 
north  wind  blew,  the  light  of  the  effulgent 
sun  came  down  to  him  softened  and  subdued 
through  the  myriads  of  green  leaves  that 
rustled  above,  fragrant  sweetwoods  and  log 
woods  and  many  kindred  growths  loaded  the 
air  with  "  Sabean  odors,"  and  the  forest  birds 
sang  a  lullaby.  Beautiful  little  todies — the 
robin  redbreast  of  the  West  Indies — in  grass- 
green  coat  and  crimson  gorget,  gave  forth  low, 
sibilant  cries  as  they  sought  from  twig  to  twig 
their  insect  prey ;  from  the  thickets,  where 
they  were  darting  to  and  fro,  came  the  full,  clear 
whistle  of  keen-eyed,  fidgety  hopping-dicks, 
while  overhead  in  the  tree-tops,  or  circling 
above  them  in  their  strong  but  short  flights, 
were  screaming  macaws  and  paroquets. 


CHAPTER  XVI. 
ON  THE   MASSACRE. 

HE  negro  is  peculiarly  sensitive  to 
cold.  He  gets  chilly  with  the  going 
down  of  the  sun,  and  through  the 
night  sleeps  well  covered,  even  in  tropical 
latitudes.  As  the  shades  of  evening  fell  and 
the  atmosphere  became  charged  with  dewy 
freshness,  the  lowered  temperature  roused  King 
fisher.  It  was  time  to  renew  the  journey.  He 
awoke  his  companion ;  the  canoe  was  launched, 
and  the  fugitives  were  borne  along  on  the 
bosom  of  the  Massacre.  It  was  one  of  those 
beautiful  tropical  evenings  which  once  seen  is 
never  forgotten.  The  stars,  admirable  for  size 
and  radiance,  shone  out  from  the  depths  of  a 
perfectly  clear  sky,  "  a  firmament  of  living 
sapphires."  Westward  the  distant  lightning 
284 


1791— A  Tale  of  San  Domingo.        285 

— incessant  at  this  season — played  fantastically 
in  the  low  banks  of  clouds  skirting  the  horizon. 
The  night  breeze  blew  deliciously;  and  the 
canoe,  for  whose  steerage  an  occasional  stroke 
of  the  paddle  sufficed,  glided  forward  on  the 
swift,  smooth  current  of  the  river.  Refreshed 
by  his  nap,  exhilarated  by  the  surroundings, 
and  no  longer  preoccupied  by  the  difficulties 
and  dangers  of  the  way,  Kingfisher  was  talk 
ative.  He  knew,  too,  how  to  adapt  himself  to 
his  audience;  for  he  dwelt  almost  exclusively 
upon  incidents  in  the  child-life  of  his  com 
panion,  when  he  himself  belonged  to  the  old 
plantation,  and  the  former  was  a  constant 
visitor  at  Belle  Vue  as  the  playmate  of 
"  Ma'm'selle  " — to  all  of  which  Henry  Pascal 
lent  an  attentive  ear.  ^ 

Kingfisher's  sense  of  deference  induced  him 
frequently  to  pause,  and  the  conversation  on 
his  part  was  only  renewed  under  some  soliciting 
remark  from  his  companion.  One  of  these 
pauses  proved  extended.  The  old  negro  had 
just  spoken  incidentally  of  M.  Tardiffe,  and 
the  mention  of  the  name  called  up  a  train  of 


286        1791— ^4  Tale  of  San  Domingo. 

thought  which  Henry  Pascal  wondered  at  him 
self  for  not  having  before  considered.  In  the 
hurried  information  given  by  Jacque  at  the 
parting  moment  one  of  the  few  items  was  that 
M.  Tardiffe  was  in  the  camp.  What  could  he 
be  doing  there?  Many  were  the  surmises  to 
which  this  question  gave  rise.  Was  it  in  his 
own  behalf  (for  he  had  properties  at  Dondon 
he  might  wish  to  save),  or  in  that  of  his  friends, 
or  of  the  prisoners,  or  the  colony  at  large? 
He  finally  settled  down  into  the  opinion  that 
the  colonial  legislature,  then  in  session  at  the 
Cape,  must  have  deputed  him  on  some  mission 
of  conciliation  or  humanity.  Could  he  be  the 
person,  it  flashed  across  his  mind,  who  had 
spoken  against  him  to  Dessalines  ?  No,  no,  he 
would  not  entertain  the  thought.  Little  as  he 
admired  the  character  of  the  man,  of  so  foul  a 
plot  he  could  not  possibly  be  the  author.  In 
truth,  it  was  a  satisfaction  to  him  not  to  know 
the  author.  He  was  so  thankful  for  his  deliv 
erance  (at  least  thus  far  wrought),  so  grateful 
for  the  friends  that  had  been  given  him,  so 
filled  with  happy  anticipations,  the  frame  of 


1791— ^4  Tale  of  San  Domingo.        287 

his  mind  was  so  joyful  and  loving,  he  was  glad 
he  knew  no  one  to  rouse  counter  emotions. 
Ruminations  about  M.  Tardiffe,  however,  were 
far  less  pleasing  than  Kingfisher's  reminis 
cences,  and  breaking  from  them  with  a  remark 
in  reference  to  the  old  plantation  life,  he  gave 
the  cue  to  his  companion,  who  started  off  again 
with  his  charming  anecdotes,  taking  care  to 
have  "Massa  Henry"  and  "Ma'm'selle"  always 
appear  together,  and  relating,  with  great  gusto, 
the  prognostications  the  negroes  were  wont  to 
indulge  in  with  regard  to  them.  His  narrations 
had  all  the  minuteness  of  detail  with  which 
age  recalls  early  impressions,  and  if,  in  his 
efforts  to  please,  fancy  should  to  some  extent 
have  lent  her  aid,  it  was  a  tribute  to  the  old 
negro's  kindly  heart,  if  not  to  his  absolute 
veracity. 

A  two-hours'  run  had  been  made,  when  it 
became  necessary  for  Kingfisher  to  concentrate 
energy  upon  the  paddle.  The  Massacre  by 
this  time  had  fairly  entered  the  savannas 
towards  the  coast,  and  the  current  slowed.  A 
few  sharp  strokes,  now  on  this  side,  now  on 


288        1791—^1  Tale  of  San  Domingo. 

that,  and  kept  up  with  the  endurance  of  a 
veteran  boatman,  sent  the  light  craft  forward. 
An  hour  later  they  passed  into  the  broad, 
deep  St.  lago  or  Yaqui ;  and  within  the  next 
hour,  near  midnight,  made  a  final  landing  at 
the  foot  of  the  pathway  that  led  to  Kingfisher's 
home.  A  fourth  of  a  mile  off,  in  the  midst 
of  a  small  clearing,  stood  the  cabin,  which 
belonged  to  the  better  class  of  negro  dwellings. 
The  posts  were  bamboo,  the  sides  wattles,  with 
rafters  of  sweetwood,  on  which  the  ordinary 
thatch  was  laid.  Interiorly  it  was  plastered 
and  white-washed.  There  were  two  rooms,  one 
for  sleeping,  the  other  for  cooking,  and  well 
furnished  with  ordinary  negro  household  arti 
cles.  Bella,  Kingfisher's  spouse,  had  long 
retired,  and  not  expecting  her  "  old  man  "  at 
such  an  hour,  and  the  times  being  so  out  of 
joint,  she  was  startled  on  hearing  approaching 
footsteps,  which  her  ear,  too,  detected  as  belong 
ing  to  more  than  one  person,  and  in  sharp 
tones  demanded  the  cause  of  the  intrusion. 
Reassured  on  recognizing  the  familiar  voice, 
Bella  delayed  not  admittance,  when,  receiving 


1791— A  Tale  of  San  Domingo.        289 

a  word  from  Kingfisher,  she  hastened  back  to 
frock  herself,  and  returning  almost  instantly, 
struck  a  light,  and,  with  every  mark  of  alacrity, 
set  about  preparations  for  lodging  her  guest. 
The  provision  was  simple  enough,  yet  sufficient. 
In  a  corner  of  the  room,  intended  for  a  mattress, 
lay  a  pile  of  dried  cocoa-nut  leaves,  and  these, 
spread  out  and  topped  with  a  bamboo  mat, 
constituted  the  bed  into  which  Henry  Pascal 
was  fain  to  turn. 

Next  morning  all  were  up  betimes ;  for  the 
heart-rending  condition  of  Cape  Frangois  men 
aced  by  foe  and  famine,  was  attracting  succors 
from  every  quarter,  and  any  hour  they  might 
signal  a  craft  making  for  the  Cape  from  some 
one  of  the  Spanish  towns  or  settlements  up  the 
river.  Kingfisher  started  off  for  his  fish-pots. 
Meanwhile,  Bella,  whose  manner  indicated  to 
Henry  Pascal  not  only  that  she  knew  all  but 
that  he  had  in  her  a  good  friend  also,  had  got 
ten  out  her  bread-stones  and  charcoal  furnace, 
and  having  bruised  the  moistened  corn  into  the 
finest  flour,  deftly  kneaded  it  into  cakes,  and 
had  the  tortillas  ready  against  Kingfisher's 
19 


290        1791— .4  Tale  of  San  Domingo. 

return  with  a  string  of  snappers  and  yellow- 
tails.  Breakfast  followed,  of  fish,  tortillas, 
yams,  and  plantains,  each  the  best  of  its  kind, 
with  the  strong  coffee  in  use  among  the  negroes. 
Henry  Pascal,  who  had  suffered  on  prison 
rations,  lingered  before  the  first  tasty  fare  he 
had  seen  for  some  days,  and  Kingfisher,  leaving 
him  at  the  board,  hastened  out  to  prepare  a 
station  for  signalling  any  incoming  or  outgoing 
vessel.  He  returned  speedily,  and  the  two  at 
once  started  off,  Bella,  of  course,  receiving  a 
warm  adieu. 

The  location  chosen  was  a  third  of  a  league 
away,  just  at  the  river's  embouchure,  where 
the  channel  curved  somewhat  westward,  and  a 
species  of  small,  fan-leaved  palm,  scarce  fifteen 
feet  high,  densely  covered  the  shore.  Mingled 
among  the  palms  were  sea-side  grape-trees, 
thick  with  crimson-veined  leaves  and  bunches 
of  red  berries,  and  a  clump  of  these  growths, 
with  the  slightest  aid  from  Kingfisher,  formed 
at  once  both  a  shelter  from  the  heat  and  a 
hiding-place  from  any  chance  hostile  blacks, 
whilst  affording  the  amplest  outlook  seaward. 


1791—^4  Tale  of  San  Domingo.        291 

They  had  remained  here  perhaps  an  hour  when 
a  sail  was  seen  making  down  the  river.  It  was 
a  three-masted  craft,  with  jibs  out  and  all  her 
canvas  set.  As  she  stood  two  miles  off,  abreast 
the  point,  Henry  Pascal  and  Kingfisher  came 
out  upon  an  open  space  on  the  beach,  and 
waved  a  token  repeatedly,  and  even  ventured 
halloos ;  but  she  sailed  past,  not  recognizing 
or  unheeding  the  signals.  It  was  a  bitter  dis 
appointment.  Kingfisher  was  sympathizing, 
his  consolations  running  in  this  wise:  that 
Monday  was  always  a  good  day  for  ships ;  that 
he  knew  another  would  be  along  after  a  while ; 
that  he  was  sure  it  would  come  nearer  in,  with 
a  variety  of  similar  reflections  very  creditable 
to  his  kind-heartedness,  after  indulging  in 
which  he  presently  took  a  turn  up  the  river  for 
certain  nets  and  fish-baskets  that  had  now  been 
without  attention  for  several  days,  and  in  exam 
ining  which  he  could  also  have  an  eye  for 
passing  sails. 

By  this  time  the  fierce  tropical  sun  was  well 
up,  and  Henry  Pascal,  seeking  his  shelter,  had 
leisure  to  observe  the  surroundings.  The  tide 


292       1791— A  Tale  of  San  Domingo. 

was  low  on  a  smooth,  snowy  beach,  and  the 
white  breakers  came  rolling  in,  to  expand, 
coalesce,  and  spread  out  in  broad  sheets  upon 
the  foamy  shore.  Below  him,  at  the  extremity 
of  the  curve  making  from  the  point  of  the 
embouchure,  a  group  of  pelicans  were  disport 
ing,  some  sailing  on  flagging  wing,  some  plung 
ing  for  prey,  while  others  preened  their  plum 
age,  perched  on  the  fibrous  roots  of  the  palms, 
which  here  and  there  formed  stretches  of 
vaulted  open  network  along  high-water  mark. 
In  imagination  his  eye  followed  up  the  beach, 
and  with  a  sweep  was  fifty  miles  away  at  the 
Cape,  and  many  and  long  were  his  musings, 
When  he  recalled  himself  to  his  surroundings, 
an  hour,  he  thought,  must  have  thus  passed. 
The  sun  had  perceptibly  advanced.  The  tide, 
too,  having  turned,  was  now  rushing  in  with  a 
freshening  breeze,  and  he  was  watching  the 
swift  arrows  of  water  shoot  along  the  line  of 
contact,  where  the  advancing  swell,  about  to 
break  on  the  shore,  met  the  reflow  of  its  pre 
decessor,  when  Kingfisher  came  running  up 
as  fast  as  his  stiff  leg  would  allow,  with  the 


1791—^4  Tale  of  San  Domingo.        293 

intelligence  that  a  sail  was  on  the  way  down 
the  river.  In  a  moment  she  emerged  within 
view,  and  when  nearly  against  the  point  made 
a  tack  that  brought  her  far  towards  the  western 
side.  The  signals  were  observed,  and  Henry 
Pascal's  heart  bounded;  for  it  was  the  final 
assurance  of  safety,  and  the  cry  of  the  Ten 
Thousand  rose  within  him,  "  Thalassa !  tha- 
lassa!"  on  seeing  the  sails  slacken  and  the 
anchor  heaved.  A  boat  put  off,  and  Henry 
Pascal,  after  pouring  out  his  gratitude  to  King 
fisher,  and  wringing  the  old  negro's  hand 
again  and  again,  was  presently  aboard.  It 
proved  to  be  the  brigantine  Elizabeth,  trading 
between  the  Cape  and  the  Spanish  settlements 
on  the  Yaqui. 


CHAPTER  XVII. 

CAPE  FRANCIS  AGAIN. 

IJTORMS  and  head-winds  followed  that 
afternoon  and  the  next  day,  retard 
ing  progress,  and  it  was  not  till  the 
afternoon  of  Wednesday,  the  last  day  of 
August,  that  the  Elizabeth  anchored  in  the 
harbor  of  Cape  Frangois.  The  news  of  Henry 
Pascal's  arrival  spread  with  the  greatest  rapidity 
throughout  the  city,  and  excited  the  liveliest 
interest;  for  he  was  well  known  and  popular, 
and  his  hapless  capture  had  been  a  universal 
theme.  He  was  on  everybody's  lips,  and  great 
numbers  sought  him  personally,  as  well  on 
his  own  account  as  to  learn  the  first  really 
authentic  tidings  from  the  negro  camp.  On 
reaching  shore  he  hastened  to  the  Hotel  de 
Ville — where,  indeed,  the  news  had  preceded 
294 


1791— ^4  Tale  of  San  Domingo.        295 

him — to  meet  his  father,  who  received  him  as 
though  from  the  dead.  While  here  a  message 
comes  from  the  governor-general,  M.  Blanche- 
lande,  and  the  next  two  hours  are  passed  in 
reporting  before  him  and  the  chief  officers 
commanding  in  the  city  such  information  as  he 
had  been  able  to  gather  respecting  the  strength, 
efficiency,  and  temper  of  the  black  army, 
together  with  the  immediate  movements  con 
templated  by  Dessalines,  and  his  purpose 
towards  the  prisoners.  The  circumstances  of 
his  escape  he  dwelt  upon  only  in  a  general 
way,  concealing,  for  obvious  reasons,  the  names 
of  his  benefactors.  But  late  that  evening, 
after  receiving  a  host  of  friends,  he  privately 
gave  the  full  details  to  his  father  and  Colonel 
Tourner,  who  were  delighted  beyond  measure 
at  the  devotion  shown  by  Jacque  and  King 
fisher,  and,  in  truth,  often  fairly  wept  over 
the  recital. 

Next  morning  he  went  aboard  the  Sappho, 
whose  decks  now  wore  the  usual  aspect,  all 
the  fugitives,  save  the  Tourner  family,  having 
returned  to  the  Cape  on  the  subsidence  of  the 


296        1791— A  Tale  of  San  Domingo. 

panic.  Madame  Tourner,  in  expectation  of 
the  visit,  was  all  ready  to  receive  him.  The 
Colonel,  the  preceding  afternoon,  the  moment 
he  caught  the  report  of  Henry  Pascal's  return 
flying  about  the  city,  had  despatched  a  mes 
senger  to  his  wife  with  the  news.  She  com 
municated  it  to  Captain  Winslow,  of  the 
Sappko,  who  immediately  went  ashore.  He 
was  one  of  the  officers  before  whom,  at  the 
governor-general's  residence,  Henry  Pascal  re 
ported,  and  through  him  the  latter  conveyed 
word  to  Madame  Tourner  that  he  would  call 
on  the  morrow. 

A  great  change  had  taken  place  in  certain 
of  her  views.  As  her  daughter  lay  in  delirium, 
and  life  for  hours  trembled  in  the  balance, 
bitterly  did  she  reproach  herself  as  the  cause, 
in  having  been  a  party  to  M.  Tardiffe's  scheme 
and  so  urgent  for  his  suit.  In  spite,  also, 
of  her  partiality  for  the  man,  the  more  she 
reflected  the  more  her  generous  nature  was 
compelled  to  admit  the  utter  meanness  of  this 
scheme,  to  which  she  had  assented  under  a 
supreme  sense  of  helplessness  and  despair. 


1791— ^4  Tale  of  San  Domingo.        297 

Her  daughter's  illness,  too,  had  opened  her 
eyes  to  values  she  had  hitherto  not  fully 
weighed.  It  has  been  before  observed  that 
beneath  Madame  Tourner's  worldliness,  the 
accident  rather  of  a  sunny  nature  and  tempting 
surroundings,  beat  a  warm,  womanly  heart,  and 
deep  currents  flowed  out  towards  her  husband 
and  daughter.  But  these  currents  had  been 
moving  on  undisturbed  for  years,  and  she  knew 
not  how  vitally  they  bound  her  till  a  sudden 
fear  of  interruption  revealed  their  strength. 
Never  before  had  her  daughter  been  so  criti 
cally  ill;  for  the  first  time  she  saw  herself 
menaced  with  the  loss  of  her  only  child — and 
all  this  because  she  had  been  seeking  M.  Tar- 
diffe's  gold.  Sorely  did  she  bewail  and  lament 
her  folly.  It  was  a  grief  that  swallowed  up 
every  other.  What  was  gold — she  so  often 
bitterly  cried  within  herself,  as  those  watching, 
anxious  hours  passed — against  her  daughter's 
life  and  love  ?  She  all  but  cursed  the  gold,  and, 
terribly  stung  with  self-reproaches,  vowed,  if 
her  child  was  spared,  never  more  to  cross  her 
affections. 


298        1791— ^4  Tale  of  San  Domingo. 

For  Henry  Pascal's  escape  she  was,  indeed, 
overjoyed.  All  on  a  sudden  it  opened  up  new 
hopes,  and,  naturally  enough,  she  took  a  more 
rational  and  better  view  of  his  prospects.  The 
opening  in  Jamaica  she  now  regarded  as  very 
good,  and  Henry  Pascal  fully  able  to  improve 
it.  She  thought,  too — doubting  not  they  would 
all  go  thither — that  the  English  ancestry  of  her 
husband  would  tend  to  help  him  to  opportuni 
ties  in  this  prosperous  English  colony;  and 
altogether  there  was  much,  in  her  opinion,  to 
be  thankful  for.  For  very  plain  reasons  she 
earnestly  hoped  Henry  Pascal's  escape  had 
been  in  no  way  connected  with  the  efforts  of 
M.  Tardiffe.  That  the  latter  had  not  returned 
with  him  gave  ground  for  such  a  hope,  and  the 
replies  to  the  first  questions  addressed  to  her 
visitor  put  her  mind  at  rest  in  this  direction. 
His  first  question  was  of  Mademoiselle,  whose 
dangerous  illness  he  had  heard  of  through  the 
Colonel.  A  week  had  just  elapsed  since  the 
beginning  of  the  attack.  It  had  been  of  great 
severity,  but  comparatively  short,  and  it  was 
a  coincidence  that  the  crisis  had  passed  the 


1791— A  Tale  of  San  Domingo,        299 

very  day  of  Henry  Pascal's  return.  As  the 
fever  ebbed  and  the  delirium  went  off  her 
inquiries  after  Henry  Pascal  were  anxiously 
repeated,  and  the  ship's  surgeon  advised  that 
the  news  of  his  return  be  at  once,  yet  gently, 
communicated.  Madame  Tourner  had  feared 
that  complications  connected  with  M.  Tardiffe 
might  prove  a  source  of  distress,  and  delayed 
the  tidings  till  she  had  seen  Henry  Pascal 
himself  and  learnt  particulars.  Relieved  on 
finding  that  "the  news"  was  unencumbered, 
she  replied  in  fine  spirits  to  her  visitor's  ques 
tion,  saying  her  daughter  was  better,  and  might 
be  able  to  see  him  presently,  and  asked  to  be 
allowed  to  retire  a  moment  to  aid  in  some 
preparations. 

The  attack  had  left  fimilie  Tourner  pros 
trated  in  body  and  in  mind.  The  events  which 
immediately  preceded  and  led  up  to  it  seemed 
to  her  a  ghastly  dream,  and  when  the  reality 
broke  upon  her  the  effort  to  recall  them  was 
unsatisfactory.  She  remembered  having  inter 
ceded  with  M.  Tardiffe,  and  his  expression  of 
willingness  to  oblige  her,  but  what  followed 


300        1791— A  Tale  of  San  Domingo. 

was  all  indistinct.  Whether  he  had  gone,  or 
how  he  had  gone,  she  could  not  tell.  The 
circumstances  were  wholly  confused,  only  that 
she  retained  an  impression  of  something  sinis 
ter  connected  with  them ;  and  to  the  clearing 
up  of  the  mystery  her  earliest  inquiries  were 
directed.  Her  mother,  however,  gave  evasive 
replies,  and  endeavored,  in  her  enfeebled  state, 
to  lead  her  mind  in  less  disquieting  directions. 
As  Madame  Tourner  now  entered  the  apart 
ment  of  her  fever- worn  daughter  the  latter,  still 
engrossed  with  the  one  thought,  turned  towards 
her  and  said : 

"  The  servant  tells  me  you've  had  a  visitor." 

"  Yes,  Emilie." 

"  Has  he  brought  news  ?  " 

"Yes,  my  darling;  some  authentic  tidings 
from  Dessalines  have  just  reached  the  Cape." 

"What  of  the  prisoners?"  she  cried  with 
sudden  energy,  partly  raising  herself  as  she 
spoke,  but,  immediately  sinking  back  in  the 
vain  effort  to  sustain  the  position. 

"Be  calm,  my  dear  child.  The  news  is 
not  bad.  We  hear  that  Dessalines,  being  in 


1791— A  Tale  of  San  Domingo.        301 

need  of  funds,  is  disposed  to  ransom  the 
prisoners." 

A  momentary  flush  of  satisfaction  which 
brightened  her  features  and  seemed  to  expand 
her  frame  passed  away  as  she  replied  in  slow, 
halting,  drooping  tones : 

"  To  hear  of  ransom  is  better  than  to  hear  of 
death,  but  where  can  the  means  be  had  ?  and 
what  must  the  end  not  be  ?  " 

"Possibly,  fimilie,  he  may  have  escaped. 
Monsieur  Pascal  is  known  and  liked  by  the 
negroes  generally,  and  he  must  have  friends  in 
the  black  army." 

"0  maman!  don't  oppress  me  with  vain 
hopes." 

"Well,  Emilie,  the  news  really  is  that  he 
has  escaped." 

"  Escaped !  "  replied  the  daughter,  bending 
upon  her  mother  a  look  of  the  deepest  interest. 

"Yes,  escaped  through  the  aid  of  Jacque 
Beattie.  Rumor  has  it  that  Monsieur  Pascal 
descended  the  Riviere  du  Massacre  by  night, 
and  he  is  supposed  to  be  now  at  some  point  on 
the  coast." 


302       1791— A  Tale  of  San  Domingo. 

"  Heaven  be  praised ! "  exclaimed  the  daugh 
ter,  with  a  beaming  countenance.  "  Yet,"  she 
added  thoughtfully,  "dangers  must  still  sur 
round  him." 

"Suppose,  Emilie,"  said  Madame  Tourner, 
as  an  arch  smile  played  over  her  features,  "  the 
point  on  the  coast  it  is  thought  he  has  reached 
should  be  Cape  Francois !  " 

Regarding  her  mother  with  a  half-frightened 
expression,  as  if  she  could  not  think  she  would 
trifle  with  her,  yet  afraid  of  trusting  such  per 
fect  news,  she  asked  solemnly  : 

"  Maman,  can  you  be  jesting  ?  " 

"Let  us  thank  God,  my  child;  Monsieur 
Pascal  is  indeed  safe  at  the  Cape,  and  all  the 
city  rejoices." 

To  this  announcement  Emilie  Tourner  could 
only  reply  by  burying  her  face  in  her  handker 
chief  and  weeping  for  joy. 

When  the  burst  of  feeling  had  presently 
passed  she  turned  to  her  mother,  and  with  eyes 
still  filling  with  happy  tears,  said  in  a  depre 
cating  voice : 

"  Surely,  maman,  you  are  not  deceiving  me?" 


1791— A  Tale  of  San  Domingo.        303 

"Well,  my  child,"  smilingly  rejoined  Mad 
ame  Tourner,  "  if  you  can't  believe  me,  I  shall 
allow  Monsieur  Pascal  to  speak  for  himself. 
Our  visitor  is  none  other  than  he,  and  he  awaits 
my  return  for  permission  to  see  you." 

Another  application  of  the  handkerchief  now 
became  unavoidable,  Madame  Tourner  the 
meanwhile  giving  hasty  touches  here  and  there 
to  complete  the  order  of  the  apartment.  It  is 
scarcely  necessary  to  add  that  the  effect  of  the 
interview  was  in  every  way  salutary,  and  that 
fimilie  Tourner 's  improvement  advanced  with 
astonishing  rapidity. 


CHAPTER  XVIII. 
CONCLUSION. 

|HE  day  following  Admiral  Affleck, 
in  response  to  the  appeal  for  help, 
arrived  from  Jamaica  with  the  fri 
gates  Blonde  and  Daphne.  Seeing  he  could 
effect  nothing  against  the  insurgents,  concen 
trated,  as  they  were,  in  the  interior,  he  resolved 
to  return,  after  landing  supplies  and  debarking 
a  force  to  aid  in  securing  the  Cape's  defence 
till  troops  should  be  sent  from  the  mother 
country.  He  delayed  departure  a  few  days, 
to  enable  certain  families,  who  had  determined 
upon  leaving  San  Domingo  at  once,  to  complete 
arrangements.  Among  these  were  the  Pascals 
and  Tourners. 

In  the  mail  for  Cape  Frangois,  brought  by 
the  Blonde,  was  a  letter  which  Mr.  Harrison 
304 


1791—^  Tale  of  San  Domingo.        305 

had  directed  to  Henry  Pascal  at  Kingston,  and 
which  the  latter's  uncle  had  forwarded.  It 
contained  a  formal  offer,  on  advantageous 
terms,  to  open  an  agency  at  Kingston,  to  which 
offer  Henry  Pascal,  resigning  his  military 
office,  promptly  wrote  an  acceptance.  Colonel 
Tourner,  after  full  consultation  with  his  family, 
also  determined  upon  going  thither.  Nothing 
could  now  be  done  at  the  Cape.  Opportunities 
of  some  sort,  he  considered,  would  present 
themselves  in  Jamaica,  and  it  would  be  far 
better  to  await  there  the  issue  of  San  Domingo 
affairs.  He  therefore  relinquished  his  com 
mand,  his  military  services  being  no  longer 
necessary ;  Emilie  Tourner  was  carefully  re 
moved  to  the  Blonde,  and  the  latter  part  of 
the  week  the  good  ship  safely  reached  Kingston. 
Here  Henry  Pascal  succeeded  far  beyond  his 
expectations,  and  in  due  time  his  nuptials 
with  fimilie  Tourner  were  celebrated.  Within 
a  few  years  he  became  the  Jamaica  partner  of 
the  Harrison  house.  Ultimately,  upon  Mr. 
Harrison's  decease,  the  Kingston  branch  passed 
absolutely  into  his  hands,  and  he  rose  to 
20 


306        1791— ^4  Tale  of  San  Domingo. 

wealth  and  influence.  As  for  Colonel  Tourner, 
though  his  San  Domingo  possessions  were 
irretrievably  lost,  he  fairly  prospered  at  Kings 
ton,  living  happily  near  his  daughter,  and 
occasionally  accompanying  his  son-in-law  to 
London,  where  the  latter  had  established 
business  relations. 

M.  Tardiffe  became  a  victim  to  Dessalines' 
wrath,  falling  into  the  trap  he  had  prepared 
for  another.  When  the  guard,  in  turn,  came 
on  duty  the  night  of  the  escape  and  found  his 
comrade  dead  and  the  prisoner  gone,  an  alarm 
was  sounded  through  the  camp.  Little,  how 
ever,  could  be  done  before  morning,  when 
every  effort  was  made  to  obtain  a  clue,  but  in 
vain.  Dessalines  was  in  a  tremendous  fury. 
Naturally  he  suspected  Jacque  Beattie,  as 
having  been  a  favored  servant  in  the  Pascal 
family,  and  set  afoot  some  secret  investigations. 
But  Jacque  had  cleverly  concealed  his  tracks, 
and  nothing  was  discovered.  While  brooding 
over  the  matter,  his  rage  at  being  baffled 
growing  with  his  potations,  Dessalines  remem 
bered  M.  Tardiffe's  saying  he  knew  the  Pascals 


1791— ^t  Tale  of  San  Domingo.        307 

well,  and  how  very  desirous  he  was  that 
his  presence  in  camp  should  not  be  known  to 
Henry  Pascal ;  and,  altogether,  his  drunken 
suspicions  being  aroused,  he  did  not  stickle 
ordering  him  to  be  searched,  when,  to  the 
astonishment  of  every  one,  including  M.  Tar- 
diffe  himself,  who  had  not  thought  of  the 
ensnaring  document,  the  note  from  Madame 
Tourner  was  found.  Dessalines  was  convinced 
of  his  complicity  in  the  escape,  would  listen  to 
nothing  from  him,  threw  him  into  prison,  and 
a  day  or  two  after,  on  hearing  of  the  tortures 
inflicted  upon  captured  blacks  at  the  Cape,  in 
a  gust  of  passion  ordered  all  the  prisoners  to 
execution. 

Jacque  Beattie  bore  an  active  part  in  the 
long  and  dreadful  struggle  that  finally  ended, 
twelve  years  later,  in  the  complete  triumph  of 
the  blacks,  under  Jean  Dessalines.  He  had 
become  full  weary  of  war,  and  the  peace  that 
followed  the  proclamation  of  black  independ 
ence  proved  a  profound  disappointment.  Jean 
Dessalines  was  the  counterpart  of  his  twin- 
brother,  Paul,  and  his  horribly  wicked  and 


308        1791—^4  Tale  of  San  Domingo. 

bloody  rule  so  disgusted  Jacque  that  he  disposed 
of  his  possessions,  which  had  now  become  con 
siderable,  and  came  to  Kingston.  He  was  at 
once  manumitted  by  Henry  Pascal,  who  with 
every  member  of  his  own  and  his  wife's  family 
held  him  in  great  honor,  and  never  grew  weary 
in  manifestations  of  gratitude.  He  lived  at 
Kingston  many  years,  and  as  "Colonel  Beattie" 
was  a  familiar  and  highly-respected  character. 
It  was  through  Jacque  that  Monsieur  Tardiffe's 
perfidy  and  the  circumstances  of  his  fate  first 
became  known. 

Henry  Pascal  made  repeated  efforts,  but  in 
vain,  to  get  tidings  of  Kingfisher.  For  the 
noble  old  fellow  he  always  kept  a  fresh,  warm 
place  in  his  heart,  and  his  memory  as  a  grand 
hero  was  transmitted  to  his  little  children, 
whom  he  would  often  delight  with  the  story 
of  his  rescue  and  escape.  His  eldest  child,  by 
the  way,  was  called  Jacque,  and  for  another 
he  gravely  suggested  to  his  wife  the  name  of 
" Kingfisher;"  but  she  deemed  it  altogether 
too  bizarre,  and  they  agreed  upon  Francis, 
Kingfisher's  original  prsenomen. 


THIS  BOOK  IS  DUE  ON  THE  LAST  DATE 
STAMPED  BELOW 


RENEWED  BOOKS  ARE  SUBJECT  TO  IMMEDIATE 
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LIBRARY,  UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA,  DAVIS 

Book  Slip-50m-9,'70  (N9877s8 ) 458 — A-31  /5,6 


N?  808515 


PS1744 
Gilliam,  E.W.  G32 

1791:  a  tale  of  San    S4 
Domingo . 


LIBRARY 

UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA 
DAVIS 


